


Up to No Good

by delectablydead



Series: Mischief Managed [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BDSM, Blood and Violence, Drarry, Dubious Consent, Edgeplay, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Knifeplay, Light Bondage, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Sub Harry, in some instances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 04:46:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 20
Words: 22,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17891747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delectablydead/pseuds/delectablydead
Summary: Ten years on, it's discovered that there's something not quite normal about Harry's memories.Please read the tags and use your best judgment before continuing. This story is intended to thrill, not to harm.If you are currently dealing with any of the issues mentioned in the tags, this story may not be for you.





	1. Chapter 1

It had been a bit more than ten years since Harry had defeated Voldemort. The wizarding world had recovered so well and quickly that it seemed unnatural. The Ministry had been restored with Kingsley Shacklebolt as the new, competent, Minister for Magic. Hogwarts had been repaired, with both old and new professors teaching a new generation of young witches and wizards. Professor McGonagall had finally become Headteacher. The trouble was, Harry had a hard time keeping up. His friends sympathised and felt the emptiness that he did from time to time, but something in him kept him rooted to that battle with the bodies of his friends littering the grass on Hogwarts grounds. He could function, more or less, but that was about it. He hadn’t begun pursuing his dream of becoming an Auror since leaving Hogwarts that day. Well, he supposed that wasn't quite true, but it certainly felt that way to Harry. He had gotten things rolling while he was 18, only to abruptly drop the ball and leave his would-be employer with radio silence a little over a year into his training. 

Harry couldn’t help picturing how his life should have been by now. Ginny might actually be interested in dating again had he not fallen into a spiral of post-traumatic stress. He’d have been visiting Hermione and Ron every night, joining Ron’s family for every holiday… not that they didn’t force him to anyway, but he would have really been present with them and enjoying himself. Something about the happy picture he had painted in his mind made his stomach lurch.

He came to his senses very suddenly, just in time to politely smile and nod in the direction of Ron’s Great Aunt Muriel. He was in the Weasley family’s backyard, and they had just finished decorating the backyard with recycled knick-knacks from Bill and Fleur’s wedding that morning. Hermione had refused to don the goblin tiara, however. Harry couldn’t say he blamed her.

The sun was beginning to set, and the ceremony had just finished. Harry had spent the majority of the ceremony trying to keep his eyes on Hermione and Ron instead of on Ginny. He had feelings for her still, but looking at her was just too painful. After Harry had defeated Voldemort, Ginny had hugged him and kissed him, but Harry felt so empty and alone that he hadn’t had the sense to reciprocate. She seemed hurt, but somehow understood what was going on inside of him, and left before they could pick up where they left off. Harry remembered her speech vividly: “You’re not the same person you were before, Harry. I know you can’t be that person again after everything that’s happened, but that’s who I’m still in love with.”

Harry couldn’t be angry with her, she was right. Maybe he’d never fully recover, but for her, he was willing to try. Or so he thought. What would it take to motivate him to put the pieces of his life back together again? He just didn’t know. Harry sighed into his clasped hands while admiring a bouquet of blue roses.

“Don’t concentrate too hard, Potter, you might strain yourself,” a familiar snide voice drawled. Draco Malfoy sat down next to him. He looked very put-together in grey and blue dress robes. Elegant, even.

“Malfoy, who the hell invited you?”

“Hermione, actually,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “She seems to think it’s high time we get past our old school rivalries.” He swirled his champagne.

“Just leave me alone, Malfoy.”

“Suit yourself, Potter. If you need help getting your foot in the door at the Ministry or would just like a tour, send me an owl.” Entirely too gracefully, he stood and left.

What an odd offer, Harry thought.

Ginny sat down next to him. Great.

“You okay, Harry? I can keep Malfoy away from you if it’ll help,” she said.

“That’s okay, Ginny. I’m fine.”

“Okay.” She gave Harry a small smile, gripped his shoulder, and went to join the rest of the wedding party.

Harry waited for an opportunity to hug Hermione and Ron in private, said his goodbyes, and disapparated back to his flat in muggle town centre London. He kicked off his shoes, collapsed in his bed, and slept fully clothed. Screw this, screw everything.

 

~~~~

 

Harry woke the next morning to yet another letter from Ron in his new owl’s clicking beak. Halwende wasn't given to the frequent loud screeches Harry had become accustomed to from Hedwig, thankfully, but he did insist on more scratches of affection. Harry scratched the dark barn owl's head and laid the envelope on Sirius's old desk. The posters from Sirius's youth remained untouched, the walls just the same as when Grimmauld Place had belonged to his late godfather. Kreacher, as far as Harry knew, did not survive the war. The guilt from this constant, silent reminder twisted Harry's stomach in a sinking knot of anxiety. 

By the time Harry finally mustered the energy to get out of bed and contemplate a shower, Ron was pounding on his front door. Walburga Black began shrieking, and Harry rushed down the stairs and flicked his wand in her portrait's direction to shut her up. 

"Ron," Harry said.

"You look like ruddy hell, mate."

Harry became acutely aware that he had neither showered nor changed since last night. What's more, he couldn't even pass the situation off as a walk of shame.

"When are you planning on coming back to work?" Ron asked. 

Harry knew that question was coming. He sighed. "Do I look capable of working these days?" He walked into the kitchen with Ron anxiously trailing behind him. 

"Then get some help, Harry. I don't like to see you ruining your future this way."

Two mugs clinked on top of the kitchen counter, and Harry set the coffee pot to brew. "Is Ginny seeing anyone new these days? "

"You've got to stop thinking about her. She doesn't want to get started again while you're still recovering."

Harry knew Ron was right, but he wasn't prepared to hear it. He turned away and faced the cabinets. 

Ron laid a rough hand on his shoulder. "Hermione reckons she can get you in with a top healer to start talking about everything. What about trying that?"

Harry poured the coffee, handed Ron a cup, and shrugged. "I suppose this healer specializes in guilt," he quipped. 

"Well, a little bit. She can help you sort through your memories. I know Hermione said a bit more about it, but I hadn't heard of this kind of healing before."

"I have done," Harry said. "It's the kind of healing muggles force on you when they think you've gone mad."

"Look. Just... give it a try? We're worried and we don't know what else to do. Besides, Hermione and I should be on our honeymoon instead of babysitting you." Ron elbowed Harry's ribs jokingly. 

"All right, then. Where can I see this healer?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took an eon for me to post the sequel! 
> 
> I'm still not sure how I feel about it, but I hope you enjoy it in spite of my tendency to hurt my favorite characters.


	2. Chapter 2

Reselda Stronach, fifth floor, St. Mungo’s. Harry took a deep breath and walked through Purge and Dowse, Ltd., and into the reception area of St. Mungo’s. An elevator at the far end of reception was open, so Harry quickly made his way toward it and stopped the closing doors just in time to squeeze himself in. He supposed Monday morning must not be a particularly hectic time at St. Mungo’s since he found himself alone in the elevator with Draco Malfoy.

“Malfoy,” Harry said curtly.

“Potter,” Malfoy replied.

“Thought you worked at the Ministry?”

“Yes, partly. There are quite a few legilimency cases gone wrong. That and a few Imperius Curses that were simply too powerful. The Ministry is in dire need of proper management.”

Harry eyed Malfoy curiously. Something about that sounded familiar, but didn’t want to press it when his own reason for making a trip to St. Mungo’s was so much less heroic than what his peers would normally expect of him. Harry nodded and cast his eyes down toward his feet.

“What brings you here?” Malfoy asked. Harry all but flinched at the question.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, Malfoy, I may require a little medical help myself lately,” Harry growled. Then he noticed that something akin to fear had flashed across Malfoy’s features. It abruptly disappeared.

“Sorry I asked, no need to snap at me,” Malfoy drawled. “Best of luck.” He got off on the fourth floor, marked by a sign that read “Spell Damage.”

Harry sighed once the doors shut. Malfoy’s appearance had made this that much worse. He felt mortified. He forced himself to exit the elevator on the fifth floor and followed the signs to “Behavioral and Psychotherapy,” then found Reselda’s office.

A small witch with her brown hair tied in a low ponytail and tiny reading glasses perched on the edge of her nose sat in Reselda’s office. “Reselda Stronach?” Harry said at the door of her office.

She looked up from her quill and parchment and smiled. “Yes. Hello, Harry. Please, come in and sit down.”

Harry quietly shut the door behind him and sat in a large armchair across from Reselda.

“What’s been going on, Harry?” she asked.

Harry sighed. “Not a whole lot, that’s the problem. Since the war ended, I’ve been staying inside more than I used to, eating smaller meals, distancing myself from friends…”

“Nightmares?”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“It wouldn't be unexpected, considering what you've been through, Harry.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“How long have you had these symptoms, and how frequently?”

“Er, basically all the time, since about six months after the war ended. So… nearly seven years?”

Reselda nodded and took a quick note on her parchment. “I see. And what are you hoping this treatment will provide?”

Harry paused. It seemed like an odd question. Then he answered, “I want to be able to help the wizarding world again. Everything was supposed to go to plan, but I’m not an Auror, I’m not a husband or father… I don’t know, I want a life again.”

“We just might be able to make that happen,” Reselda smiled again. It was a small, polite, understanding sort of smile. “Let’s start with two appointments per week, Mondays and Wednesdays at this time.”

Harry nodded, “All right.”

“As a first step for treatment, let’s do this: your memories from the year or so of the war, all into this Pensieve.”

Harry hesitated. “I don’t know about that. All of those memories?”

“You’ll remember them still, but it will be as if I have a hard copy of your memories here, and you have traces of them in the back of your mind. While I examine them for a couple days, you’ll have less weighing on your mind.”

Harry was still dubious. “What are you looking for?”

“Mostly, a place to start. But this will be much more efficient and much less painful than having you recount the war to me. That will come in time. First, I’d like to hear how you feel about the war.”

Harry nodded. “All right. Let’s do that, then.”

Reselda nodded her agreement and opened a drawer in her desk with a small, partially-filled basin, and pressed her wand to Harry’s temple.

  
  
~~~~  
  
  


Harry felt odd on Wednesday morning. He knew he needed to return to St. Mungo’s, but he forgot why. Luckily, that’s exactly what the reception desk in the front of the hospital is for. Harry scratched his head in embarrassment as he asked “Am I supposed to see Reselda today, and if so, why?”

“Ah, Mr. Potter.” The nurse surveyed him. “I believe Reselda will explain everything on the fifth floor.”

Harry nodded and took the elevator. He again ran into Malfoy in the elevator, but Harry was so distracted by his apparent memory loss that he did not acknowledge Malfoy.

Reselda watched Harry step off the elevator in confusion and called to him. “Over here, Harry!”

He shook his head as if to clear it as he followed her into her office again. The door clicked closed under her hands. “Please, sit,” she said, motioning to a couple chairs by a small coffee table this time. “I’d like to try something, Harry.”

The best Harry could do in his state was to nod his understanding and take a seat.

“These memories are overwhelming you on a daily basis, so I don’t want you to recount the events to me, at least not until you’re ready. Instead, during today’s session, I’d like to try siphoning some of these memories back into your head, and if you’re up to it, please tell me how each of them makes you feel. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry said. He felt a little confused and anxious, but thought that sounded all right.

She brought the Pensieve from her desk over to the coffee table between them and set it down. She met Harry’s eyes as she tapped the Pensieve with her wand, drawing out a long strand of silver, and finally connecting it to Harry’s temple.

Harry closed his eyes.

_Lupin was asking to be let in on the mission. Lupin told them the news that Tonks was pregnant. He wore more of a grimace than a smile. With each passing moment, Harry was angrier and angrier with Lupin. Lupin thought it was all a mistake. “I see,” Harry said,” so you’re just going to dump her and the kid and run off with us.” Everything deteriorated quickly, and Lupin rushed out the door while casting a curse on Harry. Harry felt as though he was punched, slamming into the kitchen wall and sliding to the floor in a heap._

Reselda studied him.

“I... ”

“Take your time,” she said patiently. “I’ve taken the liberty of extending our session today.”

Harry nodded gratefully. “Right. Uh. I guess I feel… regret. Guilt.”

Reselda nodded. She tapped her wand to the Pensieve between them again and met his eyes. “Ready?”

He nodded.

_Ron was bleeding on the ground in a forest, shaking violently, wearing clothes too large for him. Harry didn’t know how it had happened. Hermione sprung into action, healing Ron with Dittany, muttering protective incantations. Ron was unconscious._

Harry locked his eyes on his shoes and shook his head.

“Okay. Let’s just take a minute, how does that sound? Tea?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I’ve just got PG tips.”

Harry nodded. “Sure, yeah.”

She set a steaming brown cup on the coffee table in front of Harry. He held it gingerly and stared at its contents quietly.

“Are you feeling able to retrieve more of these memories today, Harry?”

He paused. “Yeah, I think so. I just…”

“Can’t talk about all of them?”

He nodded.

“Well, let’s at least get these back to you at your own pace today, then we’ll work on talking about it more another time. How does that sound?”

“Yeah, okay.”

She tapped the Pensieve with her wand. “Ready?”

He nodded again. Reselda went on, adding memory after memory.

_Hedwig was screeching, falling to the floor of her cage._

_Harry was burying Dobby’s lifeless body on a frigid, rocky beach._

_Peter Pettigrew was strangling himself, punishment for a moment of mercy._

_Crabbe was swallowed by cursed flames in the Room of Requirement._

_Malfoy’s fearful face as Harry pried the wands out of his hands in desperation._

_“Look...at...me” Snape choked out before the life left his eyes._

_Lavender Brown’s body, along with many others strewn about on the Hogwarts grounds, was mangled by Fenrir Greyback._

_Fred Weasley was motionless following an explosion in the castle. Percy lay across Fred’s body, not ready to leave him there without protection._

_Lupin and Tonks, pale and lifeless underneath the sky of the Great Hall’s ceiling._

_Voldemort cast the killing curse directly at him in the Forbidden Forest, a curious look on his face._

 

The Pensieve was finally still, no more memories were left inside to prod. Reselda set her wand aside on the coffee table. “Harry?” she asked.

Harry felt the weight of it all settle back on his shoulders. His stomach didn’t feel as though it was sinking exactly, but it felt lower than before, like he was trapped underneath something stifling. He was distantly aware of Reselda waiting for his reply, but he couldn’t form the words.

Tears started rolling down his cheeks, fast and thick, before he could attempt to control it. He sobbed silently while Reselda watched. She offered a hand over the coffee table and he took it. Harry brought his other hand to his face just underneath his glasses in an attempt to stem the flow of tears, futile though it was. He couldn’t say how long this went on. It felt like the better part of an hour, but he knew it couldn’t have been that long. He took several long sips out of the mug of tea, and a very deep, shaky breath.

He wiped the last of his tears and sat back, hugging himself tightly with his crossed arms. He bent over and looked at the floor, feeling deeply ashamed of his outburst.

As many as several minutes of silence might have passed between them.

“Now, Harry, as a last bit for today’s session. I’d like you to consider sharing with me a few more memories from the year or so leading up to the year of the war, when you were 16. Would you be open to that?”

He cleared his throat, which was still thick with the pain of his tears. “I guess, yeah, but why?”

Reselda took a breath. “I don’t think I have quite enough context as a bystander, and I’m also a little concerned about your mental state going into the year of the war. You were very self-sacrificial even before the war, would you agree?”

“I, er…” he shrugged. Reselda nodded her understanding.

“I know you feel guilty, Harry, but what He-Who-Must-Not—”

“Voldemort,” Harry cut her off.

“I, uh… what….V-Voldemort...did…was not your fault. He killed those people, you didn’t.”

“Right. Yeah.” He rubbed at his reddened eyes.

“Do you think you could let me take a look at your memories leading up to that year? While you just think about how the memories of the war make you feel this week?”

“Sure, yeah,” he nodded with sagging shoulders and crossed arms.

“Harry, I won’t make you tell me anything you don’t want to tell me. And I won’t force you to show me your memories if you don’t want to.”

“It’s okay, I can do it.”

“All right.” She tapped her wand to his temple and removed a rather thick mass of silver, then gently let it all settle into the Pensieve between them.

“Would you try to do just one more thing for me before next week?”

He merely stared at her out of his the haze of his hurt and his memories.

“Please try to spend some time with Teddy. He needs you, and I think you need him.”

Harry nodded. He didn’t wait for Reselda’s dismissal before silently getting up and leaving, and he was acutely aware of all the eyes following his tear-stained face as he left St. Mungo’s.


	3. Chapter 3

Teddy ran up and down the halls of Andromeda’s old house, slipping now and then on the wooden floors in his socks. His hair had turned partially blue today, as though Teddy had tried to make the change, but forgot halfway through. Harry had mustered just enough willpower to bake his favorite dessert, treacle tart, for Teddy before coming over that Friday afternoon. Just a couple bites was, apparently, entirely too much sugar.

“He’s been asking about you,” Andromeda said pointedly, setting down a couple mugs of tea in the sitting room.

“Right. Sorry,” Harry said.

“It’s gotten worse lately, hasn’t it? What prompted the visit?”

“I er, I’ve started seeing a mind healer.”

Andromeda’s kind face brightened. “That’s wonderful news. And thank you for the tart, though it has quite the effect on Teddy,” she chuckled.

“No problem. Baking it is much easier than I thought, I don’t know why I was so hesitant to try.”

“I hope the visits with your healer are the same,” she smiled.

Teddy jumped onto Harry’s lap. “Look,” he demanded. His nose shifted into a wolf’s snout, and wolfish ears sprung from his head.

“You’ve gotten better,” Harry said appreciatively.

“I know!” Teddy declared, jumping down and sprinting away again. The snout and ears vanished just as quickly as they had appeared.

“Slow down!” Andromeda called.

“Can I use the raft? Can I, can I?” Teddy yelled back, ignoring her.

“Not without the pillows,” she said.

Teddy groaned. “Harry, can you help?”

“What is he doing?” Harry asked Andromeda.

“Just pile the pillows from the sitting room at the foot of the stairs. You’ll see.”

Harry felt like he was constructing a fort with Teddy. He caught himself grinning more widely than he had done in weeks. When Teddy finally got Andromeda’s approval on the pile of pillows, he dashed up the stairs and pulled an inflatable raft out of one of the rooms, just out of Harry’s line of sight. “What…?” Harry murmured.

“Watch!” Teddy hopped on the raft and sped down the stairs, giggling as he fell into the pile of pillows at the bottom. A shock of bluish hair disappearing into a pile of white pillows.

“I can’t believe you let him do that,” Harry said to Andromeda. He laughed, and he felt a lightness in chest that was very welcome after the long sessions he had had with Reselda lately.


	4. Chapter 4

On Monday morning, Harry sighed and pulled himself out of bed. After his most recent healing session, he was not looking forward to this one. Dread settled in the pit of his stomach.

Nevertheless, he pulled on a jumper for the colder weather and some trainers and set off to St. Mungo’s.

Malfoy once again boarded the elevator with Harry, but Harry hardly paid him any attention in his distracted state.

Malfoy, however, was watching Harry with anxious concern. He did not exit the elevator on the fourth floor, but instead followed Harry, who was oblivious, to the fifth floor. Malfoy hesitantly stepped out of the elevator after Harry.

“YOU!” Reselda bellowed from her open office door. “A WORD. NOW.”

Harry was shocked partly out of his stupor. He eyed Malfoy suspiciously and opened his mouth to ask him why he was on the fifth floor instead of the fourth, but Reselda cut across him as she stormed towards Malfoy, whose shoes seemed to have been glued to the floor. His face froze in horror.

“I’ll get to you in a minute,” she snapped at Harry. She shoved Malfoy across the lobby and into her office, then slammed the door.

Harry sat in a couch in the lobby and let out a sigh. What did Malfoy have to do with his therapy? Harry didn’t want to give him that much credit for picking on him, the snooty git. Harry strained to hear the shouting match in Reselda’s office, but couldn’t decipher a word of it. Then it went nearly quiet, only Reselda’s soft yet stern voice lilting from behind the door. What a day to feel so off that he didn't think to bring extendable ears.

Reselda opened the door for Malfoy, and Malfoy’s eyes immediately fell on Harry. He looked genuinely concerned for a split second, but his expression was replaced by a searing stare of anger and possibly blame as he darted to the elevator. Harry thought Malfoy was showing a surprising amount of composure given the shouting as he pressed the button in the elevator only once and spent the few awkward moments before the doors shut glaring at Harry for all he was worth.

“Reselda?” Harry said hesitantly. “I think you just might have made matters worse.”

Reselda then glared at Harry, too, grabbed him by the arm, and said “come on,” as she dragged him into the now formidable-seeming office.

“Before I begin,” she said, “were you able to see Teddy?”

Harry was taken aback. “I, er, yeah. I even made a treacle tart for him.”

“How was that? Did you go visit him, or did he visit you?”

“I went to Andromeda’s house, and it was nice. You were right, I think I needed to see him.”

Reselda nodded and smiled. “I’d like you to try that more often.”

“Right, yeah.”

“I think we need to go a little easy considering how difficult the last session was. I don’t want to push you.”

Harry exhaled in relief.

“Now. Mr. Malfoy,” she more spat the name than said it.

Harry stiffened. “He was almost polite to me the other week—” he began.

“No doubt to cover up the crime he committed just before the war,” Reselda snarled.

“Well, I’ll wager he’s reformed—”

“That doesn’t excuse the damage he’s done to you.” Reselda said.

“Damage? He was a right git at Hogwarts, but I’m not exactly traumatised—”

Reselda sighed loudly. “Please sit down.”

Harry sat, albeit dubiously. He raised his eyebrows at her. Reselda opened the drawer with the Pensieve in it again, and tapped the surface. A hazy memory rose to the surface of the silvery liquid in the basin, his and Malfoy’s faces just barely discernible. Reselda gestured for Harry to have a go, and he knitted his brows and dove in.

The memories felt odd, similar to watching the memory of the house elf Hokey’s back when Voldemort had framed her for Hepzibah Smith’s murder. Or Slughorn’s altered memory of telling the young Tom Riddle about horcruxes. Though he was in no immediate danger, Harry was immediately anxious about the similarity between those memories and his own. Moreover, he was alarmed that he did not recall talking quietly with Malfoy in the infirmary. They didn’t seem to be fighting—not like before. It was difficult to make out what they were saying…

“...cursed me first,” Malfoy said.  
“No…I would rather...” Harry replied.  
Malfoy’s replies were inaudible.  
“I—I don’t know…” Harry said, and a little later, “...can’t stop thinking…”

It looked like the younger Harry was walking out of the infirmary, his figure slumped over in defeat. Harry was pulled back suddenly, out of the memory, back into the armchair by the desk in Reselda’s office.

“What would you say that was?” Reselda asked, knowing full well Harry had seen memories like this before.

“I’d say it was an altered memory. Of mine.”

“Yes. Do you recall any of that?”

“No,” Harry groaned. He paused. “What does this mean? What did he do?”

“Harry, I think he tried to cover up some really decent memories that the two of you had while attending Hogwarts. But I am not the person to repair these memories, and you may need to see Mr. Malfoy’s memories to get a clearer picture of what happened.”

Harry studied his worn trainers and torn denims for a moment. He really was a mess these days. “How is any of that damaging?”

“It’s damaging to pretend it didn’t happen. Malfoy needs to own up to your history. The war is over, and it’s high time he told you the truth. I imagine that you don’t want to bring this to the Wizengamot after just having witnessed for him and gotten him off of Death Eater charges.”

Harry nodded. The truth, he thought. What could that be? He needed to confront Malfoy about what happened in the infirmary that night, he decided. 

“Okay. I’ll, er, try to talk to him,” Harry conceded.

Reselda eyed him suspiciously, then nodded.

“What about the rest of the therapy? Learning to function in the wizarding world again?”

She smiled. “In time. This week, just stop by the Ministry or St. Mungo’s while Mr. Malfoy is around, and confront him. Look at it as an opportunity to get out of Grimmauld Place.”

“And if I’m not interested in talking to Malfoy?”

“If you’re that averse to talking with him, something else is wrong.”

“No… just… he’s often in my nightmares.”

Reselda studied him. “You haven’t discussed your nightmares before. Tell me about that.”

“I’m just so used to them now. I usually have dreams about what happened in the war, all the people I...we… lost. And I have dreams about Malfoy being punished after we all escaped from the Manor.”

Reselda looked up in thought and chewed on her pen. “I see,” she said. “Would you try a potion? Dreamless sleep? Just until our next visit, to see if that helps you. If the dreams are a source of anxiety for you and you can approach him more easily with a few good nights of rest, I think it’s worth a try.”

“All right,” he agreed with resignation. He stood up to go.

“And Harry,” she said. He turned to take one last look at her. “I want you to visit Ron and Hermione this week.”

“Right,” he said, “See you next time, then.”


	5. Chapter 5

Harry was at home, alone, for the umpteenth time. He studied the ceiling from the bed with an elaborately carved headboard in Sirius’s room, which he had made his bedroom. Dirty clothes were strewn across the floor of the room, Quidditch books laid open on the side tables, and unwashed mugs were scattered about. Had Kreacher survived, he would have helped Harry clean up, he thought regretfully.

He closed his eyes and again considered Reselda’s suggestions for his continued treatment. It had been a couple nights since he’d had nightmares, but he still felt anxious about confronting Malfoy. Whatever it was that Malfoy had erased from Harry’s memory, he clearly didn’t want to discuss it, and Harry didn’t particularly want to talk with Malfoy in the first place.

Visiting Ron and Hermione, though, was something that Harry could accomplish. These days he had trouble stepping outside of his comfort zone. All too frequently, his comfort zone was confined to Sirius’s bedroom. But he supposed he could trust Hermione and Ron with the details of his therapy, especially since Ron had been the one to recommend that he go. Halwende flew to his side and he scribbled a quick note on a memo pad from his side table. He decided to give it approximately a half hour before getting up and leaving. 

Harry sat up and let his legs dangle off of Sirius’s bed. He sighed, ran his hands over his face, and stood. Without so much as grabbing a bite to eat for breakfast or changing out of his slept-in clothes, he slipped his trainers on and headed to his fireplace. “Ron and Hermione’s place,” he said, and disappeared in the emerald flames.

 

~~~~

 

Hermione jumped in surprise at Harry’s sudden arrival in their fireplace, then exclaimed “Harry!” as she set down a cup of tea.

Harry stumbled out of the fireplace and onto the carpet, taking the ashes with him. “Sorry,” he said, gesturing to the carpet. “Did you get my owl? I hope it’s okay that I dropped by on such short notice.”

Hermione shook her head and smiled, clearing up the ashes with her wand, then clearing up Harry’s robes as well as she embraced him tightly. “You’re welcome anytime, Harry. Halwende is in the bedroom.” 

Harry grinned as he hugged her back. “Thanks,” he said.

“Ron!” Hermione called toward the rooms in the back of their flat.

“Yeah?” Ron peeked out from the corner, then saw Harry and hurried out. “All right, mate?” he asked, wrapping him in a quick, one-armed hug.

“All right,” Harry said, “Took your advice about seeing a healer.”

“That’s great! Going okay, then?”

“Yeah. Well, going… strangely,” Harry said 

“Strange how?” Hermione asked as she studied him.

“Er, my healer found some gaps in my memory. From our last year at Hogwarts. It looks like they were memories about Malfoy.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of memories?”

“Hard to say, they were fuzzy at best. We didn’t seem to be fighting, though.”

Ron’s brows were knitted in confusion. “Can’t your healer recover the memories for you?”

“Ron, the memories were tampered with, probably with a memory charm. The best Harry can do is to get the memories directly from Malfoy,” Hermione said.

“It’s got to be illegal, what he did. Just take the case to the Ministry—” Ron began.

“No,” Harry said firmly. “I just got him off murder and Death Eater charges, I don’t want to bring him in for this, too.”

Hermione nodded, but Ron looked mutinous. “Whatever he’s keeping from you, it’s about time he did you the courtesy of telling you the truth. Especially after what you did for the git.”

Harry shrugged. “I expect I’ll get it out of him eventually.”

“Would it help if we came with you, Harry? To confront him at the Ministry?” Hermione asked.

Harry nodded and grinned sheepishly, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease a bit. “Yeah, thanks.”

“We could all do lunch tomorrow, try to catch him then. Okay?”

“Sure, yeah.” Harry grinned broadly and pushed his glasses up on his nose.

Despite the impending confrontation, he slept even better that night.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry rolled out of bed at 11 that morning, groaning from the sudden shift to a slightly earlier hour. He shook his head at his impractical sleeping habits and got ready to leave. Halwende greeted him with a happy click of his beak from the corner of his room. He must have visited Ron and Hermione this morning. Difficult as it had been to replace Hedwig, Harry had to admit that Halwende was just as intelligent as Hedwig had been. He had a note attached to his leg:

_Harry,_

_We’ll be over in a half hour. Be sure to bring your wand for identification and put on a clean, pressed outfit!_

_Love,  
Hermione_

Harry nodded dully and set about searching for nicer pants—no, nicer denims, since he didn’t own slacks—-and a decent shirt. He settled on one of the few he had purchased since school, a slightly wrinkled, green button-down, and quickly showered and changed. He recalled that he did not own a decent pair of dress shoes, so he threw on his old trainers and hoped they wouldn’t be noticed.

Harry grabbed an old mug, filled it with old coffee, and drained it in a couple quick gulps.

A knock sounded from the door. Harry dashed, or rather stumbled, to the door and opened it.

“Hi, Harry,” Ron said.

“We’ll need to go in through the old telephone booth in London,” Hermione said, checking her small wristwatch.

“Right,” Harry said. He couldn’t help but remember the toilet entrance during the war. Hermione seemed to read his thoughts and gave him a sympathetic look. Harry hated it and looked away pointedly. He busied himself by closing and locking the door.

Hermione exhaled audibly. “Harry, those trainers...”

“Don’t have much else, turns out,” he shrugged.

Ron looked like he was holding back a laugh. He coughed into one hand. Harry grinned at him.

“All right?” Hermione said, grabbing hold of Ron and Harry’s hands.

“Yeah,” they both said, and all three all turned on the spot.

London was busier than Harry remembered it about ten years ago. The streets seemed fuller, with people walking faster than they had done before. Perhaps Harry was just imagining it, he couldn’t say for sure. They came upon a red telephone booth on the corner of the bustling street and huddled inside.

“Sure was more spacious when I was eleven,” Ron muttered.

Hermione shook her head as she picked up the receiver and dialed 6-2-4-4-2. The welcome witch greeted them, and the telephone booth shook as they began to descend into the Ministry.

Harry shuddered upon arriving in the atrium. As witches and wizards came through the fireplaces into the Ministry, he couldn’t help but remember their narrow escape when they had broken in. The thought of Ron’s splinching injury caused him to feel a bit nauseous.

“All right, there, Harry?” Ron said. “Bit weird,” he conceded before Harry had a chance to respond.

Harry nodded.

“This way,” Hermione said, and led them to the gold lifts. Harry felt another wave of anxiety as they crammed into a lift with countless other witches and wizards, most of whom were staring at him. The lift began to rise, and announced “Level 2, Department of Magical Law Enforcement” in a calming witch’s voice. The golden gates opened and a couple Ministry employees pushed past them. They reached level three and heard “Level 3, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.”

“Here we are,” Hermione muttered, grabbing Harry’s arm. Harry couldn’t help but feel a bit confused—Malfoy had claimed that he worked with legilimency cases gone wrong. But as they rounded a corner and passed a sign that read “Obliviator Headquarters,” Harry began to understand.

“Fits the bill, doesn’t it?” Ron muttered darkly.

Hermione rapped loudly on a small office door.

“Come in,” Malfoy voice came from inside. It was sharp, and a bit drawling, but with a certain air of calm professionalism, which was unfamiliar. It sounded strange to Harry.

The three of them entered, and Malfoy’s eyes widened temporarily. “Yes?” he asked, Harry suspected with false collectedness.

Harry was frozen. He didn’t know how to say it.

Hermione cleared her throat. “Mr. Malfoy, it’s come to our attention that you have altered some of Harry’s memories.”

“What did you see?” he asked quietly.

“Nothing really, it was blurred and I could barely hear the memory in the Pensieve. Came here to ask you what it was about,” Harry said.

Malfoy’s shoulders and jaw visibly relaxed, but he didn’t dare say anything. His eyes darted between the three of them.

“Look, Harry could very well take this case to the Wizengamot, but he hasn’t done. He just wants to know what you were trying to cover up, and why it still matters. The war is over, Malfoy,” Hermione said.

Malfoy nodded slowly. “Could I speak with Potter alone, please?”

Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance and seemed to agree. Hermione touched Ron’s shoulder lightly and they left the room. The door clicked softly behind them.

“Wearing trainers to the Ministry, Potter?” Malfoy drawled.

“Hardly the time or place, is it, Malfoy?” Harry snapped.

Malfoy exhaled shakily and stood to level with Harry. “What did you see?”

“We were in the infirmary, sixth year. I couldn’t make out much, but I don’t think we were fighting,” Harry said.

“Why do you need to know what happened, then?”

“Reselda advised it. She said… she said keeping good memories from someone is just as damaging as obliviating bad memories.”

Malfoy sneered. “I suppose your mind healer would know all about being involved in the war,” he said sarcastically. 

Harry sighed. “Obviously not. Just… why hide it now?”

Malfoy reddened and shifted uncomfortably. “Times change, Potter. There isn’t any point in reliving those memories now.”

“Did you think they were too dangerous for me to keep? During the war? Why did you obliviate me?”

That seemed to strike a chord. Malfoy’s eyes widened, skin paled. 

“That’s it, isn’t it? What could possibly be so dangerous that you needed to use a memory charm?”

“Look, Potter. I’ll say this just once,” He made a sudden move, grabbed Harry by the neck and pinned him to the wall. Something about Malfoy’s hand on his neck felt nostalgic to Harry. His eyes narrowed and bored into Harry. Malfoy’s stare rooted Harry to the spot. Harry hadn’t noticed before how gray Malfoy’s eyes were, how pale his skin was. He felt uneasy noticing these features, but he also felt that they were somehow comfortable, familiar. “For your own good, leave it. It doesn’t matter now,” Malfoy said.

He released Harry’s neck and Harry stumbled forward, grabbing Malfoy’s shoulder for support. Malfoy jumped away as if singed. Harry gaped at Malfoy’s exaggerated reaction.

The door burst open. “Harry?!” Ron yelped with concern. Hermione’s eyes darted from Malfoy to Harry.

“Let’s go,” she said.

Harry nodded. He fixed Malfoy’s eyes with his for a moment and said, “I’ll get answers or I’ll bring this to the Wizengamot.”

Malfoy blanched and remained frozen as the door closed.


	7. Chapter 7

Draco reeled in his office. He sunk to the floor against his office door and gripped his hair in his hands. He covered his face with his arms. Of course he shouldn’t have been so foolish as to think that this would never catch up with him. He had made so many mistakes as a child, and now all of them were rushing back to him. To make matters worse, he could not have been more transparent. He practically flirted with Potter the second they were alone. He wasn’t sure he could blame himself—Potter looked entirely too enticing in that green shirt, wrinkled as it was. Unsurprisingly, Potter had rebuffed him immediately. It was foolish to think that a teenage crush could last into adulthood, but Draco still wished it were possible.

He couldn’t stand the embarrassment, he was consumed by it. This sickening, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. If Potter viewed those memories in their fullness, Hermione and Ron would know what had happened, too. Like so many aspects of his life, he was perfectly happy to take this particular secret to the grave. 

Well, that is, if he hadn’t already mentioned it to Blaise. Blaise had eased up in his more disagreeable traits since the end of the war. He no longer saw any point in disliking mudbloods and muggles, nor did he belittle his friends or brag as he used to do. The one quality he retained from childhood was his subtle snideness. He had a way of raising one eyebrow that indicated either his evident superiority or that he knew something that Draco did not. Draco supposed that some things never changed.

Since Blaise already knew more or less what had happened between him and Potter during sixth year, his first thought was to send a memo to Blaise. Blaise didn't work every day of the week at the Ministry, as their supervisors still treated most of the former Death Eaters as interns, but Draco felt sure Blaise was in today. He fumbled for a memo pad on his desk without standing and quickly scribbled:

_My office, as soon as you can. ~Draco_

Draco tapped the memo with his wand and sent the small airplane that resulted into the hallway. Just a few minutes later, Blaise burst in.

“What’s happened?” Blaise said, clearly alarmed at Draco’s dejected position on the floor of his own office.

“Oh, nothing. The savior of the wizarding world just stopped by to blackmail me into divulging the secrets of our sixth year, is all.”

“Shit.” Blaise said. He pulled up a chair from the side of the room and looked down at Draco. Blaise crossed his legs.

“I can’t tell him,” Draco said.

“You’ll have to,” Blaise retorted.

Draco shook his head fervently. 

“Is he still seeing that healer?” Blaise asked.

Draco nodded.

“Then you’ve got to tell him. You have no choice.”

Draco groaned and covered each eye with one of his palms.

“The embarrassment is temporary. The idiot might be more embarrassed at the revelation of his sixth-year mischief than you, you know.”

Draco shrugged noncommittally, his hands still on his face.

Blaise sighed. “I can’t take care of this one for you. You can either bring the memories to his healer, or tell him yourself and keep some of your dignity.”

“Dignity,” Draco scoffed. “As if I have any of that left.”

“And he’s got so much? The wanker stays at home constantly, mental case that he is.”

“Your diction isn’t helpful,” Draco groaned.

Blaise laughed. “Trying not to picture it? Give it up, picturing it is the only way to get it out of your system.”

“Trying not to remember it, more like. I could do with a good memory charm myself. Care to do the honors?”

Blaise laughed again. “Not a chance. Those particular memories are a source of endless amusement for me.” He checked his wristwatch. “Lunch hour’s over. Meet you after work for a stiff drink?”

Draco nodded, stood, and clapped Blaise on the shoulder as he left. He would have to make a decision about the situation, and fast.


	8. Chapter 8

It was Sunday night. Harry collapsed onto Sirius’s bed, feeling hopeless again. Halwende flapped over, landed on the Gryffindor duvet, and nibbled Harry’s finger. Harry stroked his feathers absently. Tomorrow morning he’d need to tell Reselda that he had tried to confront Malfoy and had failed. He wasn’t any closer to the truth than he had been, and he worried that Reselda would try to bring Malfoy to the authorities at the Ministry with her concerns if his secrecy continued. Harry really, really didn’t want that for Malfoy. He had invested so much time and effort in defending him so that he could live a normal life after the war. One trip to the Ministry with this small bit of gossip, and it would all be for nothing.

Harry listlessly recognised that he shouldn’t care so much about Malfoy’s fate. The tosser hadn’t treated Harry well, which was especially irritating given how much Harry had done for him. It was strange that he was still capable of caring this much about something. As exhaustion and sleep threatened to take him, Harry couldn’t help but ask himself why he didn’t care this much about Ginny anymore.

 

~~~~~~~~

Harry woke with a start in the morning, and realised he was late for his appointment. He cursed under his breath and threw on his old trainers, again without bothering to change out of his denims and t-shirt from the evening prior. Without so much as grabbing a cup of coffee, he shoved his glasses onto his nose and headed to St. Mungo’s.

Reselda looked up in mild irritation when Harry burst into her office short of breath. She motioned to the empty chair across from her desk.

“Sorry,” Harry gasped.

“Quite all right,” she said. “So…”

Harry all but flinched, waiting for the inevitable.

But it didn’t come. “How have you been sleeping?” she asked instead.

“Uh, well,” he said. “No nightmares, sleeping at least eight hours per night.”

“Good, good. Have you felt better during the day as well?”

“Yeah, I think I’m improving.”

She nodded, head bent over her notes. “Then I trust you were able to visit Ron and Hermione?”

Harry nodded.

“What about Mr. Malfoy?”

Harry’s stomach plummeted. That was the question he was hoping she wouldn’t bring up.

“I, er, went to see him,” Harry said. Reselda looked at him expectantly. “Didn’t go well.”

She shook her head. “Harry, I hate to say it, but I think taking this to the Wizengamot is the next step.”

“No!” he said firmly.

She shrugged in a kind of resigned frustration. “This isn’t healthy, Harry.”

“I know,” he said softly.

“Well, if you won’t go to the Wizengamot, the best I can offer is to continue haranguing Malfoy myself. You’ll of course need to help me out by continuing to visit him and demand that he divulge the truth. Until he complies, this particular aspect of your therapy will stay at a standstill.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. Er, is there something else we could work on in the meantime, then?”

“Yes, I think so,” Reselda said. “What are your hopes for the future?”

Harry’s stomach sank yet again. “Hard to say.”

She arched an eyebrow and waited.

“Well,” he said, “I used to hope that I would be married by now, have an auror job, and start having kids. I really wanted to have children.”

“That’s still a possibility, isn’t it?”

“Not exactly. Ginny… doesn’t like who I’ve become. And I…”

“Self-loathing won’t do, Mr. Potter,” she said.

“That’s not exactly what I meant. I… I don’t think I’m always attracted to women,” Harry said, eyes on the floor. He chanced a glance at Reselda. For the first time since he’d begun sessions with her, she looked shocked. Her open mouth formed a small “O.”

“Uh…” Harry began.

“Healer confidentiality,” Reselda said, holding her right hand up in a solemn declaration of confidence.

“Right.”

“So, you’re concerned that you won’t have children of your own?”

“Yeah. I mean, probably not in the cards for me, right?”

“Not necessarily. There are ways to make it happen these days. But first, don’t you think you’ll need to meet someone new? Or do you already have someone in mind?”

Harry blushed and shifted uncomfortably. “N—no, no one.”

Reselda smiled. “Well. Try meeting someone, then? And while you’re out anyway, do try to confront Mr. Malfoy again,” she said pointedly.

Harry nodded. “Sure, yeah.” He took a quick look at the clock. It was already time to leave.

Reselda looked as well and nodded. “Next time, Harry. I’ll be in contact with Mr. Malfoy.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. “Goodbye.”


	9. Chapter 9

Harry woke late on Tuesday morning to the sound of something rapping on his window. “Mmmf,” he groaned in irritation, then placed his glasses on his nose and peered at the window. It was a reasonably large tawny owl, though not nearly as big as Hedwig had been. Harry hurried to the window and lifted it open. The owl flew in. It ruffled its feathers proudly and stretched out its leg with an ornate letter attached. The owl had a definite officious air about it.

Harry untied the letter and peeled the wax “M” from the scroll. A letter in purple ink unfurled. It read:

_Potter,_

_Your charming healer paid me an unexpected visit this morning. I realise your mental problems are urgent, but can they at least wait until lunch? I promise I’ll do my best to speak openly with you at or after noon._

_Draco_

The word “Draco” looked odd to Harry, yet he felt he had used the name before at some point. He could almost remember how comfortable the word had felt as he’d said it, but that couldn’t be. Harry smiled a little at the thought of his small healer yelling at Malfoy this morning. The owl hadn’t left, so Harry assumed a reply was expected. He quickly scrawled:

_Malfoy,_

_I’ll be there at 12._

_Harry_

With a reply tied to its leg, the owl hooted softly and flew out of the window. Harry eyed a watch on his bedside table. It was 11:20 already, he needed to hurry.

Showered, haphazardly dressed, and caffeinated, Harry rushed out the front door a few minutes late. He again apparated to the busy street, stepped into the abandoned telephone booth, and dialed 6-2-4-4-2. Seconds later, he was in the crowded atrium, rushing to the golden lifts.

“Level 3. Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.”

He exited and headed toward Obliviator Headquarters, all while ducking his head in a pointless attempt to hide his face. He paused in front of Malfoy’s office. He was distinctly aware that he was beginning to feel nervous about talking to Malfoy. He straightened his back and knocked three times.

“Come in,” came Malfoy’s voice, a little more tired than usual.

And did he ever look it. Malfoy looked exhausted and sickly compared to the last time Harry had seen him. He had faintly purple circles under his eyes, his hair appeared rather dry, and his skin looked even paler than before. The whites of his eyes were slightly red.

“Potter,” Malfoy acknowledged without looking up from his quill and parchment.

“Malfoy,” Harry gasped. “Are you all right?”

Malfoy looked up at Harry but didn’t answer the question. “Your healer certainly has a way with words, Potter,” he said instead. “I suppose you’ll get your answers. Please sit down,” he motioned to a chair on the side of the room.

Harry pulled it toward the desk and sat facing Malfoy. “Are you sure you’re…?”

“I’m fine,” he said curtly. Malfoy brushed his fringe out of his eyes. Harry observed that it wasn’t slicked back for once. He rather liked it. It reminded him of something… something on the tip of his tongue…

“Are you all right?” Malfoy asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Harry said, finally taking a seat and looking away from Malfoy’s hair. “What did Reselda say?”

“That your noble Gryffindor morals wouldn’t allow you to make good on your threat to take me to the Wizengamot, so she’d be happy to do it in your stead.”

Harry was appalled. “Er, sorry,” he paused. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t.”

“So you’ll allow me to divulge those memories on my own terms?”

Harry nodded.

“And if I tell you that those memories are no longer relevant? That times have changed?”

Harry steeled himself for a fight. “Malfoy, my healer is doing this to help me. My understanding is that what you’re hiding is important.”

Malfoy simply sat quietly, calmly, holding his hands together in a controlled posture as he leveled his eyes at Harry. Harry lost it. He lunged across the desk at Malfoy and gripped him by the collar of his shirt. “Explain to me,” Harry said quietly, “how it is that something my healer thinks is dangerous, you think is a joke.”

Malfoy’s mask disappeared and a crease formed between his eyebrows. His eyes sharpened and narrowed, and his lips became thin. In one quick motion, he stood, grabbed Harry by the collar, and pinned him to the nearest wall in his office. “Do I look like I’m joking to you? Leave it, Potter,” he hissed.

Something stirred in Harry. This was too familiar. A memory he didn’t know he had seemed to float to the surface of his mind, as if his mind had become a Pensieve. He allowed his eyes to lose focus as he fixated on the memory.

_Malfoy was grabbing Harry by the shirt collar. He dragged Harry into an empty classroom forcefully. Harry thought they were about to fight, but something didn’t feel right this time. Harry nearly fell backwards from the force of Malfoy dragging him, but Malfoy caught him by the shoulders. Harry scrambled to his feet and turned around to yell “Malfoy! What now?”_

_Malfoy didn’t answer. Instead, he began hastily unfastening Harry’s denims, and pulled them down with him as he sank to the floor._

This was enough to jolt Harry back to reality. “Oh Merlin, what have we done.”

Malfoy’s face paled and he looked sick and tired all over again. “How… how could you know?” His eyes darted to Harry’s collar in his fingers, and he seemed to recall the same memory. He released Harry and backed away, stumbling over his own feet. For a long, awkward moment, Harry stared at Malfoy’s gray eyes peering out of his worn, pallid face, and Malfoy stared right back at Harry. Malfoy didn’t seem able to move.

Then Harry darted from the office.


	10. Chapter 10

Alone in Grimmauld Place again save for Halwende, Harry was sitting at the old kitchen table with his head in his hands. His mind briefly strayed to the many nights he, Ron, and Hermione had spent in this place when they were 17 before his thoughts again returned to Malfoy.

He was shocked. But even amid all that shock, he felt like he should have known. Who was he kidding? In some way or another, he had been thinking of Malfoy constantly over the past couple weeks, and he certainly had been fixated on Malfoy during their sixth year. His thoughts were again filled with images and sounds from that memory. Malfoy must have been about to suck Harry off. When had that happened? During the school year? Or toward the end, unbeknownst to Ginny? That possibility was much worse, and he hoped she never heard so much as a whisper of it. She didn’t deserve that.

Harry couldn’t help picturing Malfoy. His pale yellow hair, lank and perfect, falling to the side of his face. He also couldn’t help but think that even Malfoy’s dark circles and pale complexion did not mar his beauty. He wondered what it would be like to touch Malfoy’s face, to see his tired eyelids and gray eyes up close.

He jolted upright. How long had he been attracted to Malfoy? He had never admitted it to himself before. No… he had, in a roundabout way. Harry remembered telling himself that Malfoy’s black attire suited him, and that even when he wasn’t wearing black, he managed to look elegant. There is a difference between admiring someone aesthetically and being hopelessly attracted to that person. Harry supposed he never really caught the difference. Or he had, belatedly, and it had all been wiped from his memory with a memory charm.

Harry was angry all over again. Maybe the things they had done in those memories weren’t wise, but did it really solve anything to pretend none of it had happened? Harry hadn't known he was bisexual before he started seeing Reselda. But he must have known before, damn Malfoy to hell, the dishonest prat. He half wanted to go back to the Ministry and demand that Malfoy tell him everything.

Instead, he flooed Hermione at work. Ron would not be able to handle this just now. He scrawled a quick _Hermione, it’s urgent. Please get back to me as soon as you’re free. At Grimmauld Place._ and sent it off in the emerald flames. Harry sat again at the kitchen table and watched the fireplace. After what seemed like minutes later but must have only been seconds, Hermione appeared in the hearth. She gasped a deep breath of air and brushed herself off.

“Harry! What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

“Yeah, fine. Well, I’ve been better. I...I just saw Malfoy....”

“You didn’t fight, did you? A fistfight at the Ministry is hardly—”

“No, no. Er, a little, briefly, neither of us threw any punches,” Harry grinned sheepishly.

“That’s it? That’s what you called me here over?”

“Er, no. I, uh. I saw a memory. One of the ones he tried to hide from me.”

“Hide?” Hermione said, not missing a trick. “What kind of memory are we talking about?”

“Erm….” Harry blushed nearly crimson and studied his sneakers. How could he bring himself to tell her? Maybe calling her here was a bad choice. He hadn't thought this through.

“I knew it,” she said softly.

“What?!”

“Oh, Harry. You were sneaking out constantly during our sixth year. Since you weren’t thinking about Ginny as much and there was only one other person you had been so obsessed with, it was practically common sense that it had been Malfoy all along.”

“But why would he hide it from me?!” Harry nearly yelled, angry again at the stolen memories.

Hermione looked up and chewed her lip in thought. “In the worst case, he hid those memories from you out of self interest. He didn’t want Voldemort to see those memories and punish him, or he didn’t want to deal with the consequences of his uh… relationship… with you. He decided to hide it from his parents and his pureblood friends. Hiding the memories was easier than a breakup.” She paused again.

“In the best case, then?”

“Well, isn’t the best case that he erased those memories for you? To protect you from Voldemort?”

Harry looked dumbstruck. His eyes were wide but unfocused.

“Would you have been able to hide those memories from Voldemort?”

Harry hesitated. “Maybe… most of the time… I don't know for sure. Not at the end, he was in my head all the time once we destroyed the cup…”

Hermione raised her eyebrows as if to say _told you so._ Harry almost smiled. His mouth quirked at the sides.

Hermione sighed resignedly. “Right, I think that settles it. You should pursue a relationship with Malfoy.”

“What?!”

“You still have feelings for him, whether you want to admit it yet or not. Just keep going to see him and see what happens, okay?”

“A fist fight will be what happens,” Harry quipped.

Hermione laughed softly and shook her head. As she was heading to the fireplace again, Harry stopped her.

“Hermione, how is it that I remembered something? I thought Malfoy was rather good at memory charms.”

“Yes, he is, but remember when Barty Crouch Jr. cast the Imperius Curse on you? You resisted that then. Who’s to say you can’t resist memory charms, even though it's a few years late?”

“More like a decade,” Harry murmured.

“All the same. Your healer would be interested to know about this, and you’ve got some talking to do with Malfoy.” She gave Harry a nod of finality, which he returned hesitantly.

She left Grimmauld Place in a swirl of Ministry robes and emerald flames. Harry couldn’t help but smile as she went: she looked the way he always thought she would at this age, distinguished and beautiful.


	11. Chapter 11

Draco did not want to stay in his office anymore. How had that happened? How had Potter remembered something? He had thought his memory charms were foolproof.  
For Potter to have remembered...well, he had resisted the Imperius Curse before, but this was different. _Leave it to The Chosen One,_ he thought to himself bitterly. Draco’s proximity must have triggered the memory. Perhaps he just needed to stay as far away from Potter as possible. Potter couldn’t find him at home. That’s what he had to do for now. He quickly scrawled an excuse to his supervisor, tapped it with his wand and sent it flying via paper airplane out the door, and began to pack his things.

Draco’s small flat was not what the golden trio, or the persistent healer for that matter, would have expected. He was desperate to separate himself from his turbulent adolescence, and nothing seemed more distant from Malfoy Manor than his humble, old-fashioned flat. It was simple, but it was in a particularly quiet muggle area where his neighbors had a habit of keeping to themselves. He didn’t mind it.

After unlocking the door (a noisy activity in this quiet neighborhood), he tossed his briefcase on his couch and fell into the cushion just next to it. He sighed, felt a wave of anxiety, and brought his hand to his lips in worry. But there was nothing to be done just now. The healer might not settle for anything less than a vial of memories to show Potter in her Pensieve, but he had to hope that he could at least try to prepare Potter for those memories beforehand.

He glanced at his muggle calendar, tacked to the wall to his right. Somehow, it was only Tuesday. He’d need to go into work tomorrow and continue to avoid Potter. Draco decided to ask to work in a different office, or department, for a day or two. It was a temporary solution, but it would allow him to gather himself. He eyed the clock and wondered how on earth he would pass the time. Though he would never admit to it, he allowed a few silent tears at the thought of Harry seeing the memories and hating him for what he had done.

~~~~~

Harry awoke early on Wednesday morning. He had gone to sleep far too early the night before, out of ideas and not wanting to deal with his racing thoughts. He was embarrassed that he had needed a couple glasses of scotch to fall asleep this time, and he had slept fitfully for it.

St. Mungo’s was silent and empty for a Wednesday morning, no sign of Malfoy. Harry knocked quietly on Reselda’s closed door. “Come in,” she called.

Harry closed the door behind him quietly and sat down. He braced himself for the questions.

“You don’t appear well,” she said.

He shrugged noncommittally.

“What happened?”

“Malfoy seemed really shaken up after I confronted him and you scolded him… and, uh, we talked again…”

Reselda waited for Harry to continue. Her pointed silences were effective, he had to admit.

“I, er, tried to ask him what happened again, let him tell me on his own terms, and he just kept saying it wasn’t important anymore. Things got, uh, heated—”

“You fought?”

“A—just a little.” She silently waited again. “I, er, remembered something.”

“What was it?”

Harry blushed harder than he had ever done in front of her. She raised her eyebrows but otherwise did not show much surprise.

“You expected this?” He asked incredulously.

“You admitted the last time you were in here that you had bisexual leanings, I’m not particularly surprised given the risk of the war and the content of our conversations.” She paused to study Harry. “Are you surprised?”

“Well, yeah… it was…”

“Heated?” She supplied. 

He grinned sheepishly. “Yeah.”

She sighed. “Harry, I think these repressed memories are affecting you in much the same way that your memories of the war are affecting you. How do the obliviated memories make you feel?”

Harry thought for a moment. “Helpless, I guess,” he said.

She nodded. “Exactly. Your power was taken from you when Malfoy took those memories, and you probably felt powerless during the war as well?”

He nodded and stared at the floor, not wanting to remember.

“I know it’s hard to face, Harry, but you’ll have to start if you want to get better. You aren’t helpless now, your situation has changed. It may not seem that way now since you’ve put your career on hold, but I promise you opportunities are out there for you.”

He brightened a little and looked up at her with a small smile. “Er, thanks.”

She nodded. “Here’s what I’d like you to do for our next appointment. It doesn’t matter whether you choose to talk to Malfoy or to talk to the Ministry, but I’d like you to try something that will make you feel less helpless. Something to improve your situation.”

Harry supposed that was fair.


	12. Chapter 12

Apparently, by the second night of doing nothing whatsoever, that “something that will make you feel less helpless” became going to a muggle pub. Harry knew he should have divulged his recent drinking to Reselda, but she was so comforting and helpful, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Despite having deliberately picked a gay pub, Harry still found himself surprised at the clientele once he stepped inside. He was out of his element. Luckily for him, though, his dark, brooding sloppiness made him rather unapproachable, so he sat unperturbed at the far, empty end of the bar with a glass of scotch. He stared at the amber liquid and wondered how he had allowed Malfoy to drive him to drinking again. Though he was sipping his scotch quite slowly, he managed to drink two short glasses before he heard noises loud enough to rouse him.

“I SAID leave me alone!” came a familiar voice from the crowded end of the bar.

Harry was sure he must be imagining it after so many drinks, and in a muggle pub, but he spotted Malfoy shoving a large, dull-looking bloke off of him. He couldn't help but notice how striking Malfoy looked in that black button down. 

The bloke persisted. “Not that polite, are you?” He said, crowding Malfoy yet again.

Harry shook his spinning head to clear it just a bit and strode across the bar to the man. He gripped the man's shoulder none too gently. “You heard him, shove off.”

“And you're going to make me? How's that?”

Harry didn't stop to think. He raised his eyebrows as if to say “well,” pulled his shoulder back, bent his elbow, locked his wrist, and delivered a punch worthy of Voldemort. The man crumpled onto the ground. 

Harry enjoyed Malfoy’s stunned expression for just a moment before promptly vomiting on the pub floor and losing consciousness.

 

~~~~~

 

The room Harry found himself in was even smaller than Dudley’s overcrowded second bedroom, yet it seemed to be the master bedroom. There were cracks in the ceilings and stains on the carpet. By all accounts, this building was old. He sat up and his head began pounding. He gripped it tightly. 

To Harry’s surprise, Malfoy entered the room with a hot mug of something and gently told Harry to “lie down, you'll make it worse that way.” 

“What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” Malfoy asked with genuine surprise.

“Oh Merlin, did we…”

“No! No. I’m not so uncivilised, Potter.”

Harry relaxed, but couldn’t help quipping, “Not so uncivilised that you’d shag me when you knew I wouldn’t remember it? You sure?”

Malfoy’s expression darkened momentarily, and then, to Harry’s astonishment, softened. “I’m sorry.”

Harry merely stared for a moment before finally muttering a small-sounding “thanks.”

“Drink it,” Malfoy urged, “some hangover you’ve got. How much did you have at that pub?”

A light blush spread across Harry’s cheeks. “Two glasses of scotch.”

Malfoy graciously didn’t comment on the amount. He simply said “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a scotch man.”

Harry sipped the medicinal-tasting liquid. He grinned, paused. “Listen, Malfoy. I think what I saw, er, remembered? on Tuesday speaks for itself, but… if I’ve already got an idea of what happened, what’s the harm in showing me the rest?”

Malfoy’s face was impassive, and Harry was ready to hear another “no” from him when he began, “Look. I don’t know how much you’ve remembered…”

“Enough to know I can handle remembering more.”

“Potter. Not all of the memories are good ones, not even the ones with the, uh, sensitive content.”

“Okay,” Harry said.

Malfoy ducked out of the room and swiftly returned with his Pensieve. He placed it on the desk near his bed. “Can you stand?”

Harry nodded.

Malfoy opened his mouth and closed it with a sigh. He seemed to want to say something.

“What?”

“Just… don’t fool yourself into thinking we can continue where we left off, Potter. I can’t handle a repeat of sixth year.” Harry felt his stomach plummet just a little at those words. Malfoy placed his wand to his temple and drew out a particularly long, silver tendril. It turned the clear liquid in the basin a glowing silver-white. Malfoy motioned for Potter to enter with a kind of hopeless resignation in his face.

Harry didn’t hesitate.

 

~~~~~

 

_The hospital wing was dark. The only person there seemed to be Malfoy. When was this? After Harry had attacked Malfoy? It must have been. Harry remembered wanting to go see Malfoy, but he thought he hadn’t gotten up the courage. But there he was, removing his invisibility cloak and apologizing to Malfoy. It didn’t go well, and Harry had admitted to being rather obsessed with Malfoy. Neither of them knew what it meant, and Malfoy asked Harry to leave._

_The cloak was making these memories difficult to follow. Harry removed it in the Slytherin dormitories and spoke with Malfoy again. How many times had he snuck in like this before Malfoy asked that he stop skulking and take the cloak off? And what in the world had possessed Harry to embrace Malfoy like that? So it was Harry who had initiated everything, then…_

_They exchanged charged glances and Harry seemed to know he was to follow Malfoy out of the Great Hall. And then they were kissing fervently in what looked like a closet, and then fighting again…_

_Harry spotted Malfoy on the seventh floor, near the Room of Requirement. The Harry who was observing realised he must have found out rather early that Malfoy had been using that room to repair the vanishing cabinet or the Death Eaters. He felt a wave of anger all over again at having his memories wiped, but he kept watching. He cornered Malfoy again, and this time things went rather far. They ended it with more fighting. This was becoming something of a habit of theirs._

_They used the Room of Requirement, and fought again. And a deserted classroom, and fought again._

_Dumbledore warned Harry, apparently. Or so Harry learned through Malfoy’s memories. Harry couldn’t help but think he should have listened, they were both being thick. They fought again and promised to leave each other alone._

_Of course it didn’t last. Harry was in the Slytherin dorm again, cuffed to Malfoy’s bed posts. He could guess what they had just done. Malfoy freed him with a silent spell, and Harry admitted “I can never get the hang of that.” Malfoy’s expression said it all. This was the moment he decided to Obliviate Harry._

_They were in the Astronomy Tower, they seemed to have arranged a meeting there. “Voldemort will know,” Malfoy said. He called him “Harry,” and Harry called him “Draco.”_

_“I’m sorry,” Draco said, tears running down his cheeks. “Obliviate.”_


	13. Chapter 13

Harry leaned back from the basin and gasped. For air, for clarity, he wasn’t sure which. Whatever he had expected from Malfoy, it wasn’t for him to disclose all or to have been so considerate of his inability to shut Voldemort out of his mind. He wondered if he would have spotted the signs if he hadn’t been watching from Malfoy’s point of view. Probably not.

But how could Malfoy have been so stupid? How could he have allowed this to happen, and then waited all these years to let Harry see these memories? Their memories? And he had even erased the memory of him being caught in the act of repairing the vanishing cabinet. He envisioned Bill Weasley, his face marred by deep gashes. Harry felt his blood begin to boil.

“Potter…?” Malfoy began. He sounded nervous, which almost convinced Harry otherwise, but—

He landed a punch on Malfoy’s jaw. Malfoy stumbled to the floor with a yelp, pushed himself back up with a murderous glint in his eye. “This is why I didn’t want to show you, you prat!” He threw a punch right back and Harry’s nose cracked under his knuckles, and then they were fighting more viciously than they had done in all their years at Hogwarts.

“How could you?!” Harry yelled back. “How could you just erase all of those memories! Bill Weasley ended up mutilated because of you!”

“Oh? And I didn’t end up mutilated at your own hand? Did you not see that I was only thinking of you, Potter?”

“Fuck off! You knew letting the Death Eaters in would hurt my friends, hurt the Order!”

“What choice did I have, you bloody twat! How are you less sympathetic now than you were before, after everything?!”

Harry slammed Malfoy back into the wall behind the desk, and Malfoy returned the shove in kind, tossing Harry to the floor. Harry pushed himself up and threw another punch, missed, and was punched in the stomach so hard it knocked the wind out of him. He gasped, yelled in frustration, and threw another punch at Malfoy’s stomach, Malfoy decked Harry in the cheek, and then Harry threw a final punch right at Malfoy’s face. Malfoy fell this time, and Harry collapsed from the exertion and what remained of his lightheadedness and hangover.

“Idiot,” Malfoy said, spitting the blood from his mouth onto the floor carelessly.

Harry panted and wiped the blood gushing from his nose.

They stared at each other. Malfoy looked defeated but… almost hopeful? Harry wasn’t sure. Harry decided watching wasn’t enough. He had to know.

He pulled Malfoy up by the front of his shirt and kissed him, hard. Much to Harry’s amazement, Malfoy spun Harry around and pinned him to the wall, gripping the collar of his shirt as he kissed him intensely. It was all tongue and teeth and breathing each other in. Malfoy tasted of blood, sweat, and desperation. And no wonder he had let Malfoy overpower him in all of those memories. He couldn’t remember ever wanting anything more than he wanted this, right now, the feel of Malfoy pinning him to the wall and touching, kissing, biting everything he could reach. Maybe Reselda wasn’t quite right about Harry needing to feel powerful after all, he thought wryly. Harry gently tried to direct Malfoy to the bed.

“Wait a moment,” Malfoy said, surfacing from the kiss. Harry groaned at the absence of his mouth. “Episkey.”

Harry flinched at the sudden repair of his nose, but it felt smooth again under his fingers. In lieu of a thank you, he pulled Malfoy to him again, one hand on the back of Malfoy’s neck and the other on his waist, and he kissed him again and again. Malfoy’s fingers were in his black hair, on his collar, pulling at his nice green shirt. Harry helped him with the buttons, and pulled Malfoy’s uncharacteristically simple t-shirt off with comparative ease. Malfoy’s blonde hair fell in thin, delicate strands as the shirt came off. His tired eyes bored into Harry’s, the want clear in his face. They fell into the somewhat undersized bed, kicking off their trousers and continuing to taste each other’s lips, blood, and warmth.

Malfoy’s wand was suddenly in his hand again. Had he had it all this time? He silently summoned the handcuffs that Harry recalled from one of their memories.

“You still have those things?!”

Malfoy smirked. “You didn’t think we’d do this the vanilla way after everything, did you?”

“I—it’s my first…”

“No it isn’t, Potter, don’t be thick.” Harry looked stricken at his words. Malfoy leaned in close to his ear and whispered, “I’ll be careful, trust me.”

Harry allowed Malfoy to cuff him to the headboard of the bed. He eyed Malfoy as he lowered himself and pulled at Harry’s boxers. His breath was hot on Harry’s erection and Harry moaned. How long did he have to wait? Malfoy was positively torturing him. His tongue ran over Harry’s slit, and it just wasn’t enough.

“Please…” Harry moaned.

Malfoy plunged downward and took Harry’s entire length in his mouth, clicking past his uvula and tonsils with ease. Harry yelled in astounded appreciation. How had Malfoy become so practiced? He seemed to live alone, single. The sensations continued. Harry felt deliberate constricting at the back of Malfoy’s throat, on the head of his cock. How was he doing that? Harry had never felt anything like it. Or had he? Malfoy somehow took even more of the length in his mouth, and stretched his tongue down to run it over Harry’s balls. If Malfoy continued like this…

He pulled up unexpectedly and Harry whimpered at the absence of his mouth. Malfoy pulled his own boxers off and moved his erect cock to Harry’s mouth. Harry hesitantly opened and lapped at the head, not sure what he was doing.

“Mmm, look at me, Potter,” Malfoy said. Harry couldn’t help but think he sounded sadistic, predatory. What had he gotten himself into? What had he gotten himself into again? “Just a little more…” he gently tugged the back of Harry’s head so he took more of his cock into his mouth. He groaned in satisfaction. Harry gagged a little when the head touched his uvula and Malfoy pulled back for a moment. Harry opened his mouth to talk but Malfoy covered his mouth with his hand. “Shhh. Don’t think about the sensation in your throat, think about how it feels when I do this to you.”

It worked. Harry was able to take Malfoy well past his uvula, deep into his throat. He was sure he wasn’t anywhere near as good as Malfoy, but he was satisfied knowing that he could do this proficiently enough the first time (or the first time that he remembered), and that he could run his tongue along Malfoy’s cock in a way that made him moan contentedly. Malfoy seemed to use all of his effort to pull himself out of Harry’s mouth.

Malfoy performed a wordless lubrication charm that Harry remembered seeing in the Pensieve. Harry gasped and waited nervously. Malfoy was more gentle than he was as a teen. He nudged one finger in, instantly finding that spot inside Harry that made him desperate for more. Then he guided two fingers inside Harry, and finally a third.

“Mmm…” Harry moaned in appreciation.

“More?” Malfoy asked as he pulled the fingers out and placed himself between Harry’s legs.

Harry nodded vigorously.

“Say it.”

“Please, Malfoy…”

“Say my name.”

“Please. Draco…”

“And what do you want?”

Harry whimpered. “Please, just fuck me already. Please,” His face was just barely flushed in anticipation.

Malfoy smirked, gently and slowly pushed himself in, and waited for Harry’s moan of appreciation as a sign to begin thrusting.

The sensations were too new and too much. Harry couldn’t restrain his cries, and Malfoy wasn’t faring any better. They had simply waited too long, and Harry could tell that they were both going to finish far more quickly that he would have liked. He wanted this to last as long as possible. Harry muttered under his breath, in between gasps, “more, more…”

Malfoy didn’t respond, but continued at a brisk pace until he felt himself building. He gripped Harry’s cock and stroked it firmly.

Harry cried out again. “I—I…”

“Come, Harry,” Malfoy whispered near his ear.

Harry did. He spilled over himself, and seconds later, Malfoy’s warm come spilled inside of him. Harry shuddered, completely sated.

Malfoy pulled himself out of Harry and lowered himself on top of him, kissing him more languidly now.

Harry shifted his wrists, clanking the handcuffs. “A little help?”

Malfoy couldn’t help but laugh as he waved the shackles off of Harry. “You’ve said that before,” he explained in response to Harry’s bewildered expression.

Harry sighed. “I can’t believe you kept this from me all these years… that was bloody brilliant.”

“Didn’t think you’d be interested after everything…” Malfoy said, eyes lowered. As if to prove his point, he touched a bruise that was blossoming on Harry’s stomach, then touched the dried blood on his face. “Terego,” he whispered, clearing the caked blood from Harry’s face.

Harry sat up. “Thanks,” he muttered. He touched Malfoy’s bruises on his face and stomach gingerly. “Sorry.”

Malfoy shrugged. “Probably long overdue.”

“Do you have any bruise healing paste?”

“Not at the moment, I could pick some up if I’m desperate.”

They fell silent.

“What now?” Harry asked.

“I just don’t want a repeat, Potter.”

“You mentioned.”

“But we’re a little predisposed to fighting with one another.”

“Maybe it’s out of our systems now?” Harry grinned.

Malfoy shook his head. “I don’t have the answers, Potter, but I can’t do this all over again if that’s what you have in mind.”

Harry fumed again, but did his best to control it. “You’re the one who ended it last time,” he tried to say it reasonably, but the words still sounded mutinous as they left his mouth.

“I know. But during wasn’t exactly pleasant either, was it?”

“During which part, exactly?” Harry asked mischievously.

Malfoy tossed a pillow at Harry’s head, and Harry caught it, laughing.

“Malfoy, I… I want to try. You can’t honestly say I got a fair chance at trying in sixth year.”

He nodded his agreement. “Your friends…”

“Yeah… well, Hermione knows.”

“What? How could she?”

“I, er—”

“You told her about the memory.”

Harry shrugged uncomfortably.

“And Weasley?”

“He won’t… take it that well, but he won’t disown me either.” Something occurred to Harry. “What about your friends?”

Malfoy’s eyes darted to the ceiling to avoid Harry’s. He ran a hand through his hair anxiously.

“Wait, do they already know?” The question sounded stupid to Harry even as he asked it. It had been nearly a decade.

Malfoy nodded. “Blaise knows the most. He’d just find it amusing.”

“Oh.”

Harry slumped back into the bed, pulling Malfoy down with him.

“We can’t stay in bed all day.”

Harry groaned in protest as Malfoy disentangled himself from Harry’s arms and got up. He haphazardly pulled on some denims and his black button down from last night. “Try to finish that hangover potion and meet me in the kitchen,” he said.

Harry stretched. He rolled out of bed and immediately fell over. The fight and the hangover… and the sex... really did a number on him. He held his nose and gulped down the medicinal potion to get it over with. After a few deep breaths, he felt right as rain. Grinning, he pulled on his denims and his green shirt. He caught a glimpse of himself in Malfoy’s mirror and grimaced. Not only was his hair a right mess, his face was developing a bright red-purple bruise. He sighed and headed for the kitchen.

“You cook, Malfoy?” He asked in surprise as soon as he entered.

“It would be bad form to keep a house elf in a muggle flat,” he said.

Harry supposed that was true. Malfoy set a plate of bangers and poached eggs in the empty spot in front of him, then turned on his heel to bring two mugs of coffee to the table.

Harry smiled. “Thanks,” was all he could manage. He hadn’t realised he was so hungry.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. “Take it easy, you can’t have fully recovered yet.”

Harry swallowed a large bite. “I feel better than ever.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

A loud hoot and persistent tapping at the kitchen window caused Harry to fumble his fork and drop it. Malfoy got up and opened the window, and Halwende flew in with a scroll tied to her leg.

“Not the ideal neighborhood to send an owl to,” Malfoy muttered, shaking his head. He unfurled the parchment and handed it to Harry.

_Harry,_

_Where have you been? Ron and I went looking for you last night but you weren’t home, and you haven’t answered your floo this morning. We’re worried, you weren’t sleeping well and I don’t know if you’ve… discussed matters with your healer. Hoping Halwende finds you well, please owl us soon._

_Hermione_

“Do you have a bit of parchment?” Harry asked. Malfoy disappeared from the kitchen and returned with a small scroll and a pen.

_Hermione,_

_I’m fine, I’ll explain this afternoon. Your place._

_Harry_

He tied the parchment to Halwende’s leg and gave him a bit of a biscuit from the table. “Thanks, Halwende. Come back home after,” he said. He pecked his finger in response, a little rougher than Hedwig would have.

 

Harry helped Malfoy clean up a bit before he left. They were oddly quiet. He supposed they’d said most of what they needed to say. Silence felt strange after all they had been through, and after bottling things up for years.

“Thanks,” Harry said and moved to open the door.

“Wait.” Malfoy said. He stilled Harry’s hand with his own and paused, eyes resting on his and Harry’s hands on the door.. “Can this not be a one-time thing?”

Harry gripped Malfoy’s hand in return. “We’ll figure something out,” he said, green eyes earnest.


	14. Chapter 14

The door closed. Draco could almost feel the ground shift under his feet. Everything felt right, but he had an aching sensation in his stomach that the difficult part was yet to come. Potter’s friends, the press, his work, not to mention Potter’s mental condition. He leaned against the door and let out a mirthless laugh, one hand running restlessly through his hair. It was never simple with Potter.

 

~~~~~

 

Hermione was pacing in the living room. Her and Ron’s house was oddly silent today with Ron out at work and the children off at Hogwarts for the year. The only sound in the background was the achingly slow ticking of their grandfather clock.

The floo lit up in a flash of bright emerald flames. Embers fell to the base of the chimney as Harry stepped out, none too gracefully. He looked disheveled and tired, his skin dry and his eyes sunken.

Hermione had been crossing her arms and wearing her best withering look of disdain, but she softened immediately upon seeing him, uncrossed her arms, and asked, “Harry? What’s happened, are you all right?”

“Yeah, fine. Nothing. Uh, well…”

“Harry. What happened,” she asked more sternly.

Harry shuffled his feet and looked at her with a silly grin on his face. Hermione couldn’t help but picture a 13-year-old Harry looking up at her as though he’d just won the Quidditch cup, and unfairly at that.

“Right, I don’t need details,” she said.

“You… is it that obvious?” Harry looked dumbstruck.

“Of course, Harry. Moving quickly, are we?”

“Er…”

She sighed. “Just be careful, okay? And tell Ron sometime soon if you plan on continuing. Don’t let Ginny find out before he does.”

“Right.” Harry couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Harry, you don’t look well. Is that a bruise…?” As Hermione reached for his cheek, he gently brushed her arm aside.

“I’m fine, really. Things just got… well, we fought a little…”

“I can see that.” She sighed. “I suppose ‘normal’ would be too much to ask of you two.”

Harry gave a noncommittal shrug. “Probably.” He felt his blood begin to boil again, mutinous at Malfoy’s obliviation having, in part, led to Bill’s scars.

“Harry?”

“It’s just… he erased my memories, Hermione. He even hid parts of me finding him in the room of requirement at odd hours. I could have stopped what happened to Bill.”

She looked at him pityingly and he felt his anger bubbling up under the surface again, even more than before. He knew she meant well, though, so he forced the feeling down. “There’s nothing you could have done,” she said softly.

“I know it’s not my fault. I just don’t know if I can forgive him.”

“That’s for you to decide. But you should at least think about why you slept with him if you knew you wouldn’t be able to forgive him. Doesn’t seem all that different from him pursuing you as a teenager when he knew it couldn’t last, does it?”

Harry looked at her in consternation, then his shoulders seemed to sag a bit as he internally conceded that she was probably right. “Right, yeah. I’ll… we’ll talk.”

“Good. Not to kick you out, but, well, Ron is heading home soon. I think you should leave unless you’d like to share with the class.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’ll see you later. Thanks for checking on me, Hermione.”

Hermione hugged Harry fiercely while he gently hugged her back, feeling a bit chagrined.

He dropped a handful of dark powder into the hearth and disappeared in a whirl of emerald flames.

 

~~~~

 

Harry collapsed on his godfather’s bed in Grimmauld Place. He stared at the ceiling and recalled that he would have to wait until Monday to talk to Reselda, and he wasn’t sure that that would be enough time to formulate what he would need to say. He rolled onto his side and curled slightly as he let a couple tears fall. Malfoy must have always has this effect on him. That, or Harry’s mental state after the war was making the reaction to Malfoy that much worse. He began drifting off to sleep almost immediately. The alcohol and… well, other activities at Malfoy’s place must not have made for a restful night.

He let himself drift into a deeper sleep than he had managed in many weeks.

 

~~~~

 

Harry awoke in a fog of exhaustion despite sleeping just over eight hours. He checked his watch on the bedside table and sprang out of bed with the sick feeling of a rush of adrenaline. He was late for his appointment with Reselda.

Like a broken record, he sped up his routine. Shower, dress, neglect to eat breakfast, apparate to the deserted street St. Mungo’s was on, take the elevator to the fifth floor. Harry divulged his visit to the pub, but did not share his encounter with Malfoy. He privately noted that he needed to improve his communication with her if she was going to help him. Keeping his problem with alcohol and his problem with Malfoy secret was getting him nowhere. Reselda was just so reassuring, he didn’t want to spoil it by bringing up either of those issues just yet. Perhaps it didn’t feel safe enough. _Some Gryffindor I am,_ he thought.


	15. Chapter 15

A week passed. Harry had avoided Malfoy and almost everyone else—except his healer. She chided him for staying in so much, but he hadn’t found the solutions useful. Simply make himself go out? Get in contact with a friend? Contact was the issue. He didn’t know what this thing with Malfoy had been, and he was desperately afraid of mucking it up by starting fight after fight with him. So he stayed in. 

 

~~~~

 

It had not escaped Draco’s notice that an entire week had passed since he and Potter had met at the pub. He asked around at work, even asked Granger and the Weasel, but neither of them had any clue where Potter had disappeared to. Typical. The Weasel, as was habitual for him, had looked baffled. Granger seemed to know what Potter and Draco had been up to over the weekend.

He knew this was a bad idea. Why had he let this happen? Again? For all his bravery during the war, even during school, Potter was a coward about just about everything else. Risk his life? No problem. Owl a bloke he shagged over the weekend? Not a chance.

They had been this way before, Draco reminded himself. Always fighting and letting weeks pass before they both finally came to grips with their budding relationship. He had done this once before, so of course he could handle it again… maybe. Draco was tired of this. It was one thing to give each other the cold shoulder and spar when they were sixteen. Quite another to do the same in their late twenties.

He didn’t think he could come up with the patience for it. On one hand, he knew this was like the first time for Potter. He would need to go through the same process they had done in sixth year yet again. But on the other hand, they were older. They should be past the childish rivalry now.  
Maybe he would have to let Potter do this regardless. Maybe Draco didn’t have the strength to let him go a second time.

No, he told himself. Of course he had the strength to let this go if that was best. The stakes weren’t as high now that the Dark Lord was gone. No one would risk death if they stayed together or drifted apart, it just didn’t matter.

He wondered why, even as he thought that it didn’t matter, he felt a crushing sensation in his chest, like the air was being pressed out of his lungs.

 

~~~~

 

Blaise Zabini had tried to remain as neutral yet friendly as possible after the war. It served him well in the following years. His reputation wasn’t excellent, but it was enough to work at the Hog’s Head. People kept quiet about the war there, and he kept quiet about their most private conversations in turn, occasionally nodding his understanding.

That evening, though, when Potter walked into his pub, he did not intend to keep quiet. The Hog’s Head was fairly empty, even for a weeknight. Blaise decided that no one would miss his bartending while he confronted Potter tonight.

“Potter,” he said quietly, wiping down the counter with a rag.

The boy who lived to be a prat stiffened and widened his eyes when he saw Blaise standing over him behind the counter.

“You’re making life rather difficult for my friend,” he continued.

Potter’s eyes fell to his hands, clasped together and twitching uncomfortably. Blaise could tell he came out tonight to be alone, he hadn’t been planning on a confrontation. Potter pointedly looked away.

Blaise sighed and poured a short glass of scotch, setting it down in front of Potter. He hesitantly took the glass but did not drink from it.

“Why haven’t you contacted Draco?” Blaise said, a little more gently.

“I don’t know,” Potter said in a smaller voice than Blaise expected. Blaise hadn’t imagined Potter to be a remorseful type, so he took a moment to deliberate before he chose his next words.

“Do you dislike him?”

Potter looked taken aback. He paused. “No…”

“Listen, people change more than they expect to over the years. I know he’s still stubborn, but Draco wouldn’t repeat his mistakes. He’s not an idiot.”

Potter nodded slowly.

Blaise was silent for what felt like several minutes, studying Potter.

“He missed you, you know,” Blaise finally said.

“But then, why—”

“You know why, come off it.” Silence, again. “I’ll be in the back. Just think it over.” Blaise turned and left Potter alone at the empty bar with his thoughts and his untouched glass of scotch.


	16. Chapter 16

Harry had a stop to make first, he decided. He flooed a very brief note to Ron and Hermione, hopeful that one of them would be watchful enough to notice the paper briefly light up the fireplace. 

When he showed up in their living room, Hermione was there waiting. “I saw your note,” she said. “Is everything all right?”

“Actually, I thought I should talk with Ron.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “I suppose you’re serious about Malfoy, then?”

Harry looked down and blushed lightly. He looked up just in time to see Hermione shake her head, not exactly in disapproval… possibly defeated resignation.

“I’ll go get him,” she said as she disappeared around the corner.

Ron came into the living room rubbing his eyes as if he had been napping. “Hi, Harry.”

“Hi.” Harry paused. He wasn’t sure how to begin.

“All right?”

“Yeah, uh. I wanted to tell you something.”

“Okay,” Ron nodded encouragingly. He sat down on the sofa next to Harry.

“I… I think I’m bi, Ron.”

“Okay,” Ron paused, “So?”

Harry smiled. He was glad it didn’t change anything for Ron.

“Well… you know those memories Malfoy was keeping from me?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Er…”

It took just a moment for Ron to realise what Harry was getting at. Ron looked about how he looked when Harry had first kissed Ginny, but worse. If he had been wearing an expression equivalent to being clubbed in the head then, he now looked as though he had violently lost Professor McGonagall’s life-size game of wizard’s chess.

After wiping the dumbfounded look off of his face with both hands, Ron leapt to his feet. “You’re kidding. Those memories were… you _with_ Malfoy...”

Harry simply sighed.

“You’re not saying you’re thinking of…”

“We’re not exactly dating, but I thought I should tell you before I consider giving it a go.”

“ _Malfoy,_ Harry? _Really?_ Malfoy?!”

“Look, Ron—”

“You couldn’t think of anyone else at all. Not my _sister,_ maybe?”

“She’s not exactly interested—”

“And why is _Malfoy_ interested? What if he’s just trying to get back at you after Hogwarts and the war? How can you trust him?”

“I’m not sure I can. We’re working on it, all right? I’m not saying we’re engaged, I’m just saying it’s a possibility.”

Ron let out a snort. “Right, bloody brilliant.”

Harry sighed.

“Why even try with that git? What do you see in him?”

“He’s changed, Ron. He lives in a small muggle flat, with no house elves, and little magic to avoid detection.”

Ron’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “And that justifies everything he did? All the memories he took from you?”

“It was… before the war, he found out I couldn’t learn Occlumency to block Voldemort out, so he just sort of… Obliviated me.”

“Then he kept it from you for years.”

“I think he was embarrassed…” Harry wasn't fully convinced of the excuse himself.

“Wait. Before the war?”

Harry stiffened.

“But that can’t mean… you were seeing him at the same time as Ginny?”

Harry rubbed his temples and nodded slightly.

Pain split across his cheek and his nose, and blood splattered on his face and the floor in the living room.

“What the hell, Ron?”

Ron was standing with his fist still clenched after hitting Harry squarely in the face. “That was for Ginny,” he said flatly. He looked oddly calm.

Harry just nodded. “Right, yeah, that’s fair.”

Ron sat back down as Hermione walked in.

“What happened?” she demanded. “It can’t have shocked you that much.”

Ron glared at her. “Did you realise Harry was seeing that _git_ at the same time as Ginny?”

Hermione sighed. “That was years ago. Harry hasn’t exactly made the smartest decisions around Malfoy.”

“She’s my _sister,_ Hermione.”

“It’s okay, I think I deserved that,” Harry mumbled.

Hermione pulled out her wand and performed a couple quick, silent healing spells. Harry felt his nose crack back into place, and he felt the blood vanishing from his nose and mouth. He rubbed at it cautiously, but was satisfied with the result.

“Been getting a lot of broken noses lately,” Harry said.

Ron gaped at him in disbelief. “Malfoy broke your nose too, I suppose? And, what, you’d like more of that from him in the future?”

“Ron,” Hermione said gently. She looked at Ron a moment, and he shook his head.

“You think this will end well? They can’t stop fighting, even now!” He paused, then let out a long sigh when he saw Harry slumped over next to him, holding his face in his hands. “Look, Harry. I don’t like it, and I don’t know when I’ll accept it, but I won’t stop you.”

Harry nodded. That was probably the best he could have expected. “Okay.”

He hugged Ron and Hermione, and flooed back to Grimmauld place, where his thoughts again strayed to Malfoy.


	17. Chapter 17

Harry thought it over and over again, and he decided to show up on Malfoy’s doorstep the following evening and… well, beg forgiveness? He wasn’t sure what he had in mind exactly, but he hoped the Firewhisky he bought from the Hog’s Head would help a bit.

Draco opened the door of his tiny flat before Harry’s fist made contact with the wood. Harry gaped at him. Draco wore an expression of completely unmasked anger, which was startling, to say the least. Harry wasn’t sure how often, if at all, he had seen Malfoy’s untempered emotions written clearly on his face.

Harry expected to be ushered away, but Malfoy stepped aside and made a small, nearly unnoticeable motion for Harry to enter with his left hand. He stepped inside and Malfoy slammed the door.

“ _Muffliato._ ” Malfoy muttered at the door. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing here, Potter?”

“I, er—”

“Spit it out!”

“I came to apologise…” It came out sounding more like a question than a statement.

“The hell you did.” Malfoy seemed to take in Harry’s appearance, only mildly surprised that Harry had yet another bruise blossoming on his left cheek.

Harry lifted the bottle of Firewhisky with a shaky attempt at a grin.

“Explain to me,” Malfoy snapped, “what exactly has changed between last week, when you insisted we would figure this out, and every other day of this bloody week, when you deliberately ignored me.”

“Right. Er, a lot of things… I didn’t want to screw this up, for one, but I already have.” Harry was having trouble making eye contact with Malfoy, and kept observing the walls and the floor. “I also… got to thinking again about all the memories I lost, and honestly I’m still pretty upset…”

“You’re upset? Did you ever stop to think, Potter,” he spat the name, “that it wasn’t just Bill Weasley’s life that was at stake?”

“Well yeah, my other friends as well, everyone in the Order—” Harry’s voice was rising to match Malfoy’s.

“And what about Crabbe? What about me losing all of those wands to you at the Manor before you pissed right off?”

“That was Crabbe’s fault and you know it,” Harry growled. “And you’re going to honestly tell me you didn’t deliberately let those wands go—”

“What is wrong with you, Potter? That’s beside the point. I know you would have tried, just a little, to help if you still remembered—”

“You think I wasn’t already trying?! Ron and I saved you twice that night at Hogwarts!”

“You’re not the only one who lost people, Potter!” Malfoy snapped.

Malfoy and Harry glared at each other recalcitrantly. Harry could see that Malfoy was seething in silence, too stubborn to attempt civil conversation first.

“I have nightmares about it still, you know,” Harry said quietly.

“I know. Sort of why you’re certifiable, isn’t it?”

Harry knitted his brows and rubbed at his temples, trying to find his patience. “I mean about the Manor, and Voldemort punishing you after I left. I could feel him punishing everyone, he was so angry...”

Malfoy’s features softened for just a moment. “Aren’t you tired of fighting?” he said quietly.

Harry closed the distance between them. “Yes.” 

He hesitantly took Malfoy’s hand, lightly holding onto just the tips of his fingers. Malfoy brushed Harry’s hand with his fingers, and Harry took this small motion as permission. He ran his hand up Malfoy’s arm while closing his other arm around his waist and then Harry pulled him in, kissing him deeply. Malfoy seemed hesitant, but quickly gave in. He kissed Harry back with all the longing of ten years and one week. The force of it had him pushing Harry up against the nearest wall, just beside his front door.

Harry gasped and desperately pressed himself into Malfoy, unable to feel close enough.

“Malfoy...” Harry breathed between consuming kisses. “Clothes…” he protested gently.

Malfoy responded in kind. While continuing to kiss Harry quite thoroughly, he shrugged his robes off and began hastily unbuttoning his shirt. He unbuttoned his denims but did not slide them off.

Harry broke away from the kiss briefly to peel his t-shirt off over his head. Malfoy stopped him just before he finished and kept Harry’s hands trapped in his shirt, as if he were tied up. Harry gasped in pleasure and kissed Malfoy with renewed fervor. Malloy spun Harry around and shoved him into the bedroom, which thankfully wasn't too many steps from the door in the small flat. Harry fell backward onto the bed, his hands still sloppily bound by his shirt. He did not try to break free, but instead waited in anticipation.

Then Malfoy covered Harry with himself and moved down Harry's body, kissing his neck, his back, his collarbone, then moving down his sternum, he began sucking and gently biting at Harry’s nipples. Harry yelped in surprise, but when Malfoy tried to move away and focus his attentions elsewhere, Harry used his badly bound hands to drag Malfoy back. He wanted Malfoy to keep sucking his nipples, then move lower…

“Wait,” Malfoy said as he pulled away.

“Damnit, Malfoy!”

“I… I need to talk to you about something.”

“ _Now?_ ” Harry said incredulously. “I wouldn't say talking is exactly…”

“Our strong suit?” Malfoy supplied. “No, but it's different… do you remember the memory I showed you about the Room of Requirement? Or the first time we…”

Harry blushed, and he could swear Malfoy was just barely holding back a twisted smirk. “Yeah, what about it?”

“I'm… sorry.”

“What? Why?”

“It shouldn't work that way, there should have been more consent—”

“I'm pretty sure I consented, Malfoy.”

“Potter,” he snapped. “You don't really remember it, how can you know for sure?”

Harry looked thoughtful with his eyes silently searching the air above Malfoy’s head, slightly to the right.

“Besides, considering what we were doing, I should have handled it more responsibly. I was young and stupid. I know that's no excuse, and I'm sorry.”

Harry was stunned into silence for a moment, arms still awkwardly bound by his half-removed shirt. “What do you mean by ‘responsibly?’” he asked after a moment.

“Merlin, you really were a virgin,” he sighed as he ran his fingers through his now unkempt hair.

Harry glared at Malfoy for all he was worth.

“It's not a bad thing, really.” Malfoy’s smile was much softer than Harry expected. He wasn't sure he had ever seen him look like that before. “By ‘responsibly,’ I mean I want to be sure this is what you want.”

“Malfoy, I'm half-naked in your bed.”

Malfoy couldn't seem to stop himself from scoffing in disbelief. Harry could see the smile underneath the act Malfoy was putting on, and he smiled in return.

“You know what I mean,” he continued pointedly. “Those times before, when we were teens… hell, even in my bedroom last week… I should have taught you about BDSM first.”

“BDSM?”

“See, this is what I was concerned about.”

“Hey!” Harry protested.

Malfoy held up a hand. “It's… Salazar, this is awkward to talk about.”

Harry was getting impatient. “Spit it out, then.”

“Bondage, discipline, dominance and submission, and sadomasochism.”

“Sort of a mouthful.”

“Which term was unclear?” Malfoy drawled.

Harry felt his cheeks redden. “I think I’ve got it,” he muttered, looking down at the floor beside Malfoy’s bed.

“Right, so you’re also familiar with safe words?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of them.” His eyes had not budged from the carpet.

“You don’t have one you’ve used?”

Harry was silent and gave Malfoy a defiant glare.

“Ah, right, virgin,” Malfoy repeated quietly to himself. “May I suggest a safe word system, then?”

“Go ahead,” Harry bit the words out around his annoyance.

“I’ve heard there’s a system in muggle transportation, those lights.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Stop being thick, Potter. ‘Green’ means keep going, ‘yellow’ means slow down, ‘red’ means stop.”

Understanding seemed to light Harry’s face.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “So… when I ask you for your colour, you’ll tell me?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, leaning in to Malfoy.

Malfoy reached behind Harry and gripped Harry’s shirt more tightly around his hands. Harry’s sharp intake of breath was loud in the quiet room. Malfoy leaned in close to Harry’s ear. “Colour?” he whispered.

“Green. _Merlin,_ it’s green.” Harry could feel Malfoy smile against his ear, then Malfoy’s teeth on his earlobe. He inhaled sharply. Malfoy quickly knotted Harry’s shirt and pushed him down onto the bed.

“Don’t worry, I’ll fix it if it gets ripped,” Malfoy whispered next to his ear.

“Mmm….” was all Harry could manage in response. He could feel Malfoy’s lips move from his ear down to his neck, then linger at his Adam’s apple. Harry rutted against Malfoy, desperate for more contact. Malfoy backed away, maintaining his grip on Harry’s shoulder to hold him down, and grinned. Harry knew the wry smile was sinister, but he felt a shiver run down his spine all the same. Malfoy held Harry’s hips down, preventing him from moving. 

Harry moaned in protest. Malfoy leaned in, still holding him down, and continued licking at Harry’s Adam’s apple. Harry’s breathing was shallow and quick.

“ _Bite me,_ ” he just barely managed to scrape out the whisper.

“What?” Malfoy was astonished. He looked at Harry’s lust-blown pupils, and saw that he certainly had not misheard.

“ _Please… bite me,_ ” he said, insistent.

Malfoy looked intrigued by the request and obliged, biting the cords of muscle running from Harry’s jawline to his collarbone. Harry moaned, hard, tilting his head back and arching his back as much as he could while still pinned down.

He had an idea. He performed a silent summoning charm and caught a knife in the hand that had been holding down Harry’s shoulder. Harry’s eyes widened and he froze. Malfoy took the opportunity to summon a blindfold. He held it up for Harry to see.

“Colour, Potter?”

Harry was silent, mouth firmly shut as he stared at the knife.

“Colour,” Malfoy demanded.

“ _...Green,_ ” Harry said, barely a whisper.

“Interesting,” Malfoy said.

He held Harry down by the shoulder again, this time rougher than before. He knew that once he let go, his grip would leave red marks on Harry’s shoulder. Harry inhaled sharply but did not protest, and he stared at Malfoy without blinking, waiting for what he would do next. Malfoy gently removed Harry’s glasses and set them on the bedside table, then tied the blindfold around Harry’s eyes. It felt soft, and Harry let out a shaky sigh, caught somewhere between pleasure and fear.

Malfoy paused with his hand on Harry’s head. He slowly leaned to the side and set the knife, carefully and soundlessly, on the bedside table. Malfoy shifted his eyes to make sure Harry hadn’t heard. He hadn’t. He was taking quick, shallow breaths, and waiting. Malfoy tapped the table with his wand and picked up a spoon that had appeared, then held his wand against the spoon, creating a thin film of frost, which immediately created small droplets of condensation as it began to warm to room temperature.  
He brushed the spoon against Harry’s neck, just briefly. Harry gasped against the cold and moaned with fear. He was still under the impression that Malfoy had a knife in his hand, and Malfoy loved it. He drew a quick line with the cold metal from Harry’s carotid to his clavicle, the bone there jutting out prominently through the thinness of his frame. Harry’s whole body tensed as he gasped.

“Would you let me do this to you, Potter?” Harry froze at the question. “You’d let me cut you?”

“...yes,” his voice just barely scraped out.

 _Not now, not yet,_ Malfoy thought. It would be too soon for that, but he stared at Harry’s blindfolded face in awe. He seemed so trusting, in spite of everything. He outlined the contour of Harry’s jawline with the edge of the metal. Harry took a deep, unsteady breath, shaking as he let it back out through his clenched teeth.

Malfoy kept the cold metal on Harry’s neck as he leaned in and began licking and nibbling at the skin there, below his jaw. He inched a hand from Harry’s collarbone, slowly, toward the loose-fitting trousers he still hadn’t removed. Harry moaned and tilted his head to the side to give Malfoy easier access.

Malfoy unbuttoned Harry's denims, pulling them off as Harry helped by kicking his way out of them. “Malfoy, your clothes…” Harry protested.

“I think I might prefer to keep them on while you’re so…. restrained…. and exposed,” Malfoy drawled. Harry wondered if smirks could be audible. A noise escaped his throat that sounded somewhere in between a moan and a whimper.

Malfoy moved his hand from Harry’s calf up to the inside of his thigh, then fitted his fingers inside Harry’s boxers and slipped them down just enough to expose Harry’s cock, already hard against his lower abdomen. Malfoy licked a stripe from the base of Harry’s cock to the head, eliciting a gasp. He paused, considering Harry.

“Malfoy, please…”

He pulled Harry’s boxers farther down, and Harry helped by kicking them off, onto the floor.

Malfoy gripped Harry roughly by the hips. “Spread your legs, Potter.”

“Mmm…” was all Harry could manage at that.

Malfoy lifted Harry, keeping his legs spread wide for him, and gently, experimentally, covered Harry’s hole with his tongue.

“Aaahh!” Harry yelled in surprise. Malfoy held him still and licked across Harry’s opening again. Harry quickly dissolved into little more than unintelligible gasps and moans as Malfoy pushed his tongue past the ring of muscle, gently pressing into Harry.

When Malfoy finally let up, Harry felt a familiar lubrication charm in place of Malfoy’s tongue. “You still have your wand?” Harry just barely rasped, almost a strained whisper.

“Nnnn,” Harry moaned as Malfoy pushed in a finger as he gingerly searched for Harry’s prostate. An exaggerated gasp escaped Harry’s mouth when Malfoy finally found it. He moved his fingers in and out, stroking that spot repeatedly. Harry moaned more fervently now, but also more quietly, his voice constricted with pleasure as Malfoy touched him. Malfoy took this as a cue to pull his finger completely out, and insert two fingers in its place. By the time Harry had comfortably acclimated to three fingers, Malfoy abruptly pulled back out.

“Malfoy…” Harry gasped.

“Yes?” Harry could swear he could hear Draco’s arched eyebrow and his sneer in his voice.

“...please.”

“Please what?”

“Please, Malfoy….fuck me.”

Malfoy positioned himself between Harry’s thighs, spreading them further. “Say my name, Potter.”

“Draco… please. Fuck me.”

Malfoy slowly pushed himself inside Harry, who was shuddering uncontrollably under Malfoy’s ministrations. He had been teased for far too long tonight. “F-faster.” He demanded.

Malfoy complied. He bent over Harry and thrust in earnest, but even in his excitement, he still held onto the cold metal spoon, which he now held to Harry’s throat, just above his carotid artery. Harry whimpered in response. “ _Please_ … careful…” he muttered in between heaving breaths.

Malfoy leaned in closer and kissed the other side of Harry’s neck in response.

“Need to see you—” Harry’s voice was a scratch against the dryness of his throat.

“No, I don’t think you do, Potter.”

“Malfoy—”

Malfoy set the spoon down beside Harry’s head and instead gripped Harry’s neck firmly, without restricting the flow of blood. Harry’s whimpers escalated into something erratic, wordlessly pleading with Malfoy to let him come. Malfoy may as well have read Harry’s thoughts, as he reached between them to grip Harry’s cock. He stroked him in time with his increasingly rough thrusts.

“ _Shit!_ ” Harry had barely been touched before he started coming, fast and thick between the two of them.

Malfoy couldn’t last much longer. The image of Harry coming practically unassisted on his cock, all while Malfoy had his hand wrapped firmly around his throat and a blindfold over his eyes, was too much. He carelessly thrust into Harry several more times, thoroughly emptying himself inside of him.

 

Malfoy collapsed onto Harry and caught his breath for a couple seconds before he rolled off of Harry and laid flat on his back. Harry seemed to muster up the energy to sit up and wriggle out of the makeshift binding around his wrists. He tossed the wrinkled shirt aside and finally pulled off the blindfold.

“You didn’t take the blindfold off,” he said, grabbing his glasses from the bedside table and placing them back on his nose.

“No,” Malfoy said. “You didn’t use a safeword and you didn’t ask more than once.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Are you all right?”

Harry was taken aback. “Yeah, m’okay,” he mumbled.

Malfoy nodded and let his head fall back into the pillow. He reached over Harry without looking and lifted the spoon in front of his face. “Wasn’t using the knife,” he said simply.

“What?! You tricked me?”

“It’s called being a responsible dominant, Potter.”

Harry practically pouted. Malfoy tilted his head to the side just in time to see Harry’s expression. He seemed to be exerting quite a bit of effort to suppress his laughter.

“Well if you’re that heartbroken, I can use the knife with no blindfold next time.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Malfoy could see that Harry was silent, and his jaw was resolutely set.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Malfoy said.

Harry scoffed. “Going to fall asleep,” he announced barely above a whisper.

“A little early, isn’t it?”

“I don’t give a shit.”

Malfoy tsked, and they both drifted into sleep.


	18. Chapter 18

Malfoy woke up first, prodding Harry in his side. “Don’t sleep all night. You’ll be wide awake at three in the morning.”

Harry groaned and stretched. They stayed that way for some time, sprawled out on their backs, side by side on Malfoy’s bed. Malfoy had one arm tucked underneath his head.

Harry propped himself up a little on his elbow, facing Malfoy. “Malfoy,” he said quietly.

“Hm?” Malfoy didn’t bother moving, but shifted his eyes to meet Harry’s.

“Why did you decide to work at the Obliviator Headquarters? After everything?”

Malfoy exhaled, cleared his throat. “I…”

Harry’s eyes seared into Malfoy’s skin.

“I was punishing myself,” Malfoy said in an uncharacteristically small voice.

“What?!”

“You heard me, all right?” Malfoy snapped.

“Why?” Harry said.

“Look, I know I screwed up before the war. I’m not an idiot. I was having second thoughts long before The Dark Lord was living in our house—”

“You still call him The Dark Lord?!” Harry asked, aghast.

“Not all of us can just say his name, you rash, stupid Gryffindor!”

Harry glared daggers at him. “Unbelievable.”

“A bit wide of the point, isn’t it, Potter?”

Harry had gotten out of bed. He began hastily pulling his demins back on. Draco followed him to the front of his flat.

“What happened when you said ‘Voldemort,’ Potter? I don’t suppose the Death Eaters just showed up and dragged you off to the manor, did they?” Malfoy did not seem able to keep the biting tone from his voice.

Harry stilled. “They found us.”

Malfoy raised his eyebrows at Harry as if to say “see?!” Harry had frozen where he stood, trapped in thought. “I know I was no angel, all right? I took this job because I thought I’d always be the only one to remember…”

“Damnit Malfoy, I can never get those memories back!”

“Wasn’t a great relationship, you’re not missing much,” Malfoy adopted his typical drawl.

“That’s not the point either you complete arse!” Harry yelled.

Harry and Malfoy glared at each other in silence.

Harry finally seemed to make up his mind as he moved toward the door.

“Malfoy, has anyone ever been able to tolerate you?” he bit out in a quiet voice, shaking with rage. “Because if someone like that exists, I’d like to borrow some of their patience.” He slammed the door behind him.

 

~~~~

 

Draco stared at the door of his flat in shock for just a moment, then he was a mess.

When he was a child, after endless scolding from his father, Draco had learned to cry silently when necessary. The war had made crying without letting out a single sound a habit for him. He was even able to stifle his tears entirely until he was alone at night, and still, he made sure he cried quietly so he could be sure he was safe from the Dark Lord.

The image of the Muggle Studies professor, Charity Burbage, hanging unconscious and upside down above their family table and slowly spinning in circles, danced behind his eyelids when he closed his eyes. He remembered her waking up and crying tears into her hair. _“Severus... please... please”_ echoed in his ears as if it had happened last night. 

The Death Eaters and his family had finally been dismissed after being forced to watch Nagini devour the Muggle Studies professor. Like most other nights when the Dark Lord was living with them in the Manor, Draco saved his tears for his bedroom, and he cried himself to sleep by muting his gasps with his pillow. He knew he couldn’t risk a single sound with the Dark Lord listening and watching over his family, just waiting for an opportunity to hurt them even more.

Draco couldn’t help but think of that night and how uncontained his sobbing had been while he cried, quietly but through heaving gasps, after Potter had stormed out of his flat.

 

~~~~

 

“I HATE him!” Harry yelled in Hermione and Ron’s house shortly after he had left Malfoy’s flat.

Hermione let out a long-suffering sigh. “Right, I have to wake up early for the Ministry. Ron, could you take this one?”

“I—what? Me?!”

“Yes, you. Sorry, Harry, good night,” she said rather curtly.

Her frustration with him just made him angrier. “I can’t deal with her AND that bloody GIT!”

“Sit down, mate,” Ron said.

Harry sat like he meant to cause the chair harm. Ron hesitantly rested a hand on Harry’s shoulder, and breathed a sigh of relief when Harry didn’t move to shove him off.

“You really fancy him, don’t you?”

“I HATE him!”

“Yeah, you mentioned,” Ron studied him in exasperation. “Can you live without him?”

“What?” Harry finally turned to look at Ron, his anger fading in order to make room for astonishment.

“Do you remember that time that Hermione set those birds on me? Just after Lavender first kissed me?” Ron paused. Harry didn’t nod, but Ron could tell he was listening. “I think that was when I knew… that even when she drove me mad, I still couldn’t do without her. ‘Course, I was an idiot about the whole thing back then. Still am, really.” He shrugged and smiled sheepishly.

Harry rested his forehead on clasped hands and sighed.

“Just… ask yourself. I know you’re upset with him now, but when you’re not as angry, later… can you live without him?”

Harry fumed. “Well I won’t think about it now, I don’t know how his own mother tolerated him.”

“All right. Chess?” Ron asked.

“What?” Harry was baffled by the sudden change of subject.

“You’re not calming down, and you’re not going to sleep anytime soon. So, chess?”

“Er, sure, yeah.”

Ron laid out the pieces as they fidgeted, readying themselves for battle. For an hour or two, Ron kept Harry’s mind off of Malfoy.


	19. Chapter 19

Harry had been skiving off a couple appointments with Reselda over the past week, while he stewed in his anxieties around Malfoy. Finally the guilt of having skipped his sessions caught up with him when he woke up on that Monday morning, and he decided it was time to show his face again, ashamed though it was, at St. Mungo’s.

When he got off on the fifth floor and hesitantly walked into Reselda’s office, she didn’t even look surprised to see him. 

In lieu of a hello, she simply said “Mr. Potter, we have a 24 hour cancellation policy here at St. Mungo’s.”

“I, yeah, sorry,” he muttered.

“There will be a fee for missing the last two appointments,” she said, not impatiently, but frankly.

“Right. No problem, we can charge it to my account.”

She nodded as he finally sat. He was clearly still a little uneasy.

“Harry,” she said, and he looked up at the use of his first name, “It’s not my job to chastise you. You can skip appointments whenever you want. Let’s instead discuss how you’ve been. Have you seen your friends lately? Has Mr. Malfoy discussed the memories in more detail with you?”

“Yeah, er, a bit more than discussing, actually.”

She raised a single eyebrow. “I know you’ve gotten physical with Mr. Malfoy. We can skip over those details unless you’re dying to share them.”

“No, it’s not like that. I just thought I should tell you at some point, uh… well, there are two problems I’d like to talk about.”

She nodded, “Okay.”

“The first is that I don’t think Malfoy and I are doing this right, really.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, we’re still fighting all the time. I don’t really want to pursue a relationship with him if we’ll just fight constantly.”

“Do you want to break it off with him, then?” she asked.

“No…”

“Then you need to talk with him, Harry. What do you want out of it? What about him?”

Harry sighed. “I don’t know.”

“I’d like you to think about something for me.”

Harry looked at her questioningly.

“I want you to think of ways you can build trust with Malfoy.”

He furrowed his brow.

“I know how difficult that seems, I know what you two have been through with the war. But it’s also the only way you could begin a real relationship.”

Harry nodded, and Reselda was silent, waiting.

Harry took a deep breath. “I’ve also been, um, drinking quite a bit.”

She nodded. “I know,” then she added “why do you think you’re drinking so much?”

“I don’t know… it’s like Malfoy is one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, but he’s also one of the worst things that’s ever happened to me. He made my life miserable at Hogwarts and he and his family made my life miserable during the war. It’s just so hard to believe he would want to be in a relationship with me after everything he did, after he took the side of the Death Eaters, after he got a Dark Mark. All of it. And I guess it’s also a little bit of what I told you when we had our first session, that I just want to have a life again, and I have so much trouble even getting it right with Malfoy that I just can’t even imagine being a functional person in the wizarding world anymore. So instead of think about all that, sometimes I just drink.”  
Reselda nodded, worry etched into the fine lines around her mouth.

“Have you talked to Ron and Hermione about any of this?”

Harry shrugged. “Some of it, mostly how frustrated I get with Malfoy.”

“What did they say?”

“Ron asked if I could live without Malfoy.”

“That’s an interesting question.”

“Yeah,” he said with a sigh.

“Right. Harry, I’d like you to do two things.”

He looked at her as if to ask _“For Merlin's sake, what?”_

“First, please do think about Ron’s question. I think he’s got a point. And second, I’d like you to try to find an interview. The position you interview for doesn’t matter, I just want to see you try for an occupation so you can feel more in control of your own life.”

“Okay…” Harry said hesitantly. He didn’t see how he could manage any of that, but he supposed there was no harm in trying, at least no harm beyond what he already experienced by avoiding interview after interview.

When Harry said goodbye to Reselda that day, she insisted on giving him a hug.

 

~~~~

 

Harry did almost anything but think of Ron's question. The truth was, regardless of the real answer, he found their relationship too painful. How could he be sure it hadn't been exactly the same in the past? He could try to move past all those ancient rivalries, but it just seemed too difficult. 

So Harry spent the majority of the next few days alternating between visiting his friends and Teddy, and crying by himself at Grimmauld Place.

 

~~~~

 

When Harry visited the Burrow that Friday, the family warmed around the table as they each claimed a seat. The buzz of it all was both comforting and overwhelming to Harry, who had grown up among fewer people who were all fairly determined to wish him out of existence. While Harry had given Ron a cursory nod, the silence stretched between them, swirling uncomfortably in the air between them. They hadn’t spoken since Harry had his meltdown at Ron’s.

Harry took a deep breath. He knew he had to talk to Ron sometime.

“You’re right,” Harry said simply.

Ron tilted his head at Harry in confusion. “What d’you mean?”

“He does drive me mad, but I don’t know that I can live without him.”

Ron watched Harry, waiting for more as the rest of the family chattered noisily.

“I might murder him before I can bring myself to tell him. Or I might fling myself off a very tall building first.”

Ron looked surprised at first at Harry's frankness, then he met Harry’s eyes and only somewhat passably contained his laughter. He and Harry both smirked at each other, which was enough to earn Ron a kick from Hermione under the table, along with a questioning look.


	20. Chapter 20

In retrospect, Harry shouldn’t have been so surprised to find Malfoy at a muggle coffee shop, considering they had met at a muggle pub just a couple weeks ago. There he was, though, unexpectedly sipping an espresso in the exact coffee shop Harry had intended to relax in for the afternoon, looking annoyingly graceful in his black suit. Harry’s first thought was to make a run for it before he was seen.

With a loud scraping noise, Malfoy’s chair had been shoved out of the way as he got up and dashed over to Harry. Just as Harry had been turning to go, Malfoy gripped him by the wrist. “Join me,” was all he said.

Harry sighed in exasperation. “Fine.” Then he fell silent as he sat down with Malfoy.

Malfoy’s eyes were uncomfortably focused on Harry, and Harry turned his head to the side to avoid his gaze. After just a couple seconds of this, he stood and said simply “coffee.” He walked altogether too quickly to the register and ordered a latte. He couldn’t help but feel frustrated that his idea to relax and forget about Malfoy for the afternoon had just been shattered. He scratched the back of his head in irritation, leaving his hair even messier than before. Maddeningly, he could still feel Malfoy’s eyes on the back of his head, watching him.

With the latte ready and waiting on the counter by the register, Harry didn’t have much choice but to eventually pick it up and bring it back to the table occupied by his unwelcome acquaintance. He set down his drink and continued avoiding Malfoy’s eyes, but he still felt them on him.

“Potter,” Malfoy said finally.

Harry couldn’t quite muster an entire word, so he let out a small, defeated-sounding grunt instead. He could almost feel Malfoy’s judgmental, single, arched eyebrow.

“Are we going to discuss this?”

Harry felt his limbs pulse with anger. “Discuss what, Malfoy?”

“Oh, I don’t know, the fact that you stormed out of my flat last week? Or the fact that you never answer my owls?”

Harry was silent, he didn’t know what to say. After a long moment of silence, Malfoy let out an exasperated sigh.

“Harry,” Malfoy said quietly. Harry stiffened at the use of his name, and finally met Malfoy’s eyes. “Do you want to end this?”

The grey eyes bored into Harry’s green ones, and he could swear for just a moment he felt as though Dumbledore were looking straight through him again, to the depths of his soul.

“No,” he said softly, looking away again.

“Neither do I,” Malfoy said, and Harry’s eyes again snapped back to Malfoy. “Look,” he said pointedly. “What if we just start over?”

“How would we do that?”

“It’s not that complicated, Potter. We just try to start a new relationship now, because the old one isn’t working.”

“I’m not sure that I can just forget it all.”

“I’m not asking you to. All I’m saying is that we’ve had all these arguments already, and it’s gotten us nowhere, so I’d like to try starting over. I think we both know that we’re different people now than we were during the war.”

“How can I trust you, Malfoy?”

Malfoy didn’t answer. He instead pulled a small business card out from the inside of his lapel and handed it to Harry. It was lettered in green ink.

_1:00 p.m. to 3:00 p.m. on Friday, September 20th, Kingsley Shacklebolt._

“What’s this?” Harry asked, a little impatient that his previous question had been dismissed.

“You have an interview for a position as an Auror.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “How did you swing that?” It was true Kingsley was a friend of Harry’s, but he also had a reputation for being quite tough. Harry couldn’t imagine him agreeing to an interview so easily now that he had been out of the workforce for years, even if he is The Chosen One. Harry especially couldn’t imagine Malfoy talking Kingley into it.

Malfoy ignored the question. .“You don’t have to work full-time, Kingsley told me he’d take you in any capacity.”

Harry was stunned into silence for several moments. “I don't know what to say.”

“Well,” Malfoy said, “does that help our broken trust?”

“I—yes, of course,” he said.

“Then let’s start over, all right?”

Harry nodded.

Malfoy extended a hand and said, “Hi. My name is Draco, nice to meet you.” He smiled.

Harry grinned and took Draco’s outstretched hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To new beginnings. Cheers.


End file.
